The Fighting Augies
by Dan Rush
Summary: Max Sterling's book about his father's, Kevin Sterling, tour of duty as an A-6 Intruder pilot over Vietnam aboard the USS Columbia in 1967-1968.
1. Chapter 1

The Fighting Augies

My Dad in the Vietnam War

By Maximillian Sterling

Written by Dan Rush

Dedicated to U.S. Navy aircraft 503 Buno 155890

"Thanks for taking care of my dad, Luffy."

Writers notes: for a PDF or file complete with pictures email dananvy85

The aircraft carrier used in this fan fiction never existed. The USS Columbia would have

been one of the next generation of post World War II aircraft carriers called the United States class which would have dwarfed the previously built monster Midway class carriers which entered U.S. Naval service between 1945 and 1947. The USS United States was in production at the ship building facility in Newport News in 1948 when the U.S. Government made the choice to radically reduce the size of the U.S. Navy in the mistaken belief that the atomic bomb had rendered the need for navy and marine forces obsolete. The cancellation of the United States class of aircraft carriers led to what became known as the Admiral's Revolt against the new Department of Defense and its' civilian head Louis Johnson in 1949. The United States Navy was drastically cut and its' aircraft carrier strength grossly depleted buy June 25th 1950 when the Communist army of North Korea invaded the Republic of South Korea, a conflict in which the Navy proved the indispensable need of the aircraft carrier in the age of atomic weapons.

At the end of the Korean War, the building plans of the old USS United States were pulled from storage and used as a basis for the first modern super aircraft carriers of the US Navy, the Forrestal class, with the lead ship commissioned in 1955.

This fan fic changes that time line, supposing that the United States class carriers were built. USS United States, USS Columbia and USS Abraham Lincoln. It is USS Columbia that sees combat action during the Vietnam War of the 1960's.

Forewords

I grew up a military brat in a military family to begin with so flying came natural. I probably flew a glider right out of my mother at birth wearing a Snoopy sock hood with goggles. A stuffed Snoopy doll wearing his trademark World War I flying helmet and scarf was the first toy I remember having as a child. I grew up with exciting stories of my Grandfather's exploits flying with Mark Mitchner in "Pepsi Cola" Florida when planes were just rickety balsa wood and wire frames with a cheep car wheel and wooden planks for rudder controls. My grandfather would follow Admiral Mitchner through the Pacific campaigns in World War leader a squadron of Dauntless dive bombers on a long range strike against the Japanese during the Great Mariana's Turkey Shoot of 1943. Gramps was lucky to make it back to his ship on what was a gutsy gamble by Admiral Mitchner. Lucky in that my dad got a letter from my grandmother saying he'd just become a father.

My dad, Kevin Edward Sterling, was born on August 17, 1943 in Bremerton, Washington where the USS Bennington, Gramp's ship, was based out of during the War. After the war ended, Dad and mom followed Gramps all over the place. Eventually they settled in Honolulu, Hawaii when Gramps got command of an aircraft carrier, the USS Philippine Sea, which by 1950 was the only carrier operating anywhere in the Western Pacific. For Navy families in the late 1940's, times were pretty tough money wise. The so called "peace dividend" of the atomic bomb supposedly made navies obsolete so what was the purpose of giving the Navy any more money?...except no one told the North Koreans that. Gramp's ship was in the Philippines at Subic Bay when General Douglas MacArthur sent Gramps a radio message...

"Where are you? I need you. Get your ass up here to Korea quick!"

Gramps steamed his task force at high speed and within twelve hours the Phillipine Sea was bombing the North Koreans. MacArthur liked my Grandfather and likewise, they "clicked" as goes the vernacular. Gramp's swift response and steady aircraft support slowed the North Koreans enough for General MacArthur to surprise them at the port of Inchon and by the fall of 1950 certain victory was in sight. Then the Communist Chinese jumped into the fight and Gramps was in almost constant deployments from that time on until the cease fire in 1953.

My father got to see General MacArthur in person with Gramps before the General left Japan in 1951 after he had been relieved of his Command by President Harry Truman. Dad was nine years old and told me that MacArthur towered over him. The General bent down, shook dad's hand and said to Gramps..."The boy's going to be another navy pilot like you. Probably just as crazy too." I wonder what gave General MacArthur the hint? The ball cap dad was wearing or his mouth? My dad gave MacArthur a smug smirk and said "So what's so special about you? Are you an Army cook or something?" Dad often told me that's what he said to the General.

No doubt Dad was going to be a navy pilot, which I think comes with the requirement of at least one felony or act of rapacious debauchery before you can get accepted to Navy Flight School. At 17 he met my mother, Cynthia Preston, daughter of a very well known Linebacker for the Chicago Bears in 1960 when Dad was going to college preparatory School on the West side in Chicago, Illinois.

Should I make it obvious that my Dad was a lousy Catholic? Did I also mention that my Dad absolutely did not take no for an answer? That's how my older brother Keith Sterling came about. Mom fell for Dad, Dad fell for mom, football father said no and Dad said "I don't care." They married in secret because well...the secret wasn't going to remain secret for long.

Gramps was absolutely furious about it but he played blocker to appease the Bear's very enraged star player. And when Mister Preston he found out that his daughter was marrying a man with a good looking future and a naval pedigree about a mile long. My brother Keith was welcomed into the world with Navy bells and cheer leader pom poms in 1961.

Dad got into Naval Flight School and Officer Candidate School in 1961 and graduated fifth in his class in 1964 as a Lieutenant Junior Grade when trouble in Vietnam started to boil into a shooting war. He transferred from "Pepsi Cola" Florida to advanced flight school in Corpus Christy Texas where he got his choice of what he wanted to fly as far as Navy aircraft. I guess like Father, like Son, since Gramps flew Navy bombers in the Pacific War; Dad wanted to fly a navy bomber so he chose the "Luffy" or "Little Ugly Fat Fucker"" as most pilots called the newest plane to come into the fleet at that time...the Grumman A-6 Intruder.

It was at Corpus that Dad ran into his Bombardier Navigator, his "'B/N" as the right side seat pilot or officer in the Intruder was known. Corpus was where fighter pilots and their Weapons Systems Officers "RIO" (Ree-oh) as well as A-6 pilots and B/N's were put together as a "mated pair" for their first one or two tours of duty. It was considered important to crew performance and mission success that two-crew aircraft like the F-4 Phantom and A-6 Intruder have offciers who could perform well as team mates. My Commanding Officer of Vermillian Squadron on the SDF-1 "Rick Hunter" told me how his own father and Commander Roy Fokker's father became a mated F-4 Crew in Vietnam. Commander Hunter's dad insulted Commander Fokker's dad's bright blonde hair by calling him "Tweety Bird" in a classroom...

Both men promptly destroyed sed classroom in an all out brawl. It didn't help Mister Fokker's cause of not being called "Tweety" as a call sign. The name stuck to him like glue. Commander Roy Fokker often warns Rick that if he dares to say that nickname about Roy? He won't find a tool deep enough to extract the flight boot from his ass.

On the other hand, my Dad was forgiving on his future B/N Ensign Andrew "Andy" Mercado from Yuma Mesa Arizona. They're relationship started...well...raunchy and intoxicated. At a stag party celebrating the impending wedding of a Corpus classmate, Dad in his state of inebriation began to do...cartoon characters having sex. Yes...Yogi Bear, Snaggle puss, Grape Ape...you see where this is going? Then Dad gets too...Augie Daddy the dog...having sex with some French poodle or something and he feigns Augie Daddy getting a cramp in his leg.

So in jumps Andy Mercado as...you guessed it...Daddy's puppy son "Augie Doggie" and I wish someone recorded it because the description does it no justice. Dad tried to do it when I was old enough but without Andy it falls flat. Well Dad and Andy clicked which is how they got their call signs "Augie Daddy" (Dad) and "Augie Doggie" (Andy). They performed well during their evaluation process so they were paired up as a crew and sent on to Naval Air Station Whidbey Island in Washington State to the Fleet Replenishment Air Group or "RAG" outfit for the Pacific A-6 Intruder squadrons. VA-128 "The Golden Intruders" in the spring of 1966.

Compared to the Veritech; the Grumman A-6 Intruder is a "squirt". From all appearances it is a squat, fat, butt ugly aircraft no pilot could use as points to get sex with a girl, I mean come on...what was more popullar in TOP GUN? Tom Cruise (who's manhood was questionable) or that beast of a Navy fighter plane the F-14 Tomcat? Tom Cruise alone "Yuk" now Tom Cruise with an F-14? Sex for sale. A pilot with an A-6 Intruder? Do you really need a birth control pill?

Yet Dad liked to say he didn't pick the A-6 to pick up women, he picked it to kill people. You should remember that my Dad like most of his generation grew up with the Soviet Red Scare on the brains. Communists were everywhere...behind a tree, in your freezer, in your tooth paste, in your underwear and my Dad's generation was brought up with the belief that they were the defenders of mom, apple pie, Mickey Mouse and church on Sundays; hence how his whole generation ended up in a country most didn't know existed and many couldn't find on a map.

Vietnam.

Commander Hunter and Commander Fokkers Dad's both flew in Vietnam from the USS Midway out of Japan in the later part of the war. My Dad and Andy Mercado completed their A-6 Training in the spring of 1967 and were assigned to the Bremerton based carrier USS Columbia with Attack Squadron Six known as the "Black Rams" and they got aboard a month before the Columbia sailed for the South China Sea and the ever growing mess of the Vietnam War. This book is the story of that six month deployment between August of 1967 and April 1968.

It's not hard to figure out when I was conceived? August of 1967, my birthday is May 19, 1968...obviously dad wanted to make double sure the family name lived on if God for bid something terrible happened.

Much of what's in this book comes from what I got from Dad; like his personal war diary he kept through the deployments; he made two combat deployments aboard the Columbia with VA-6. There's letters he wrote to my mom and other articles and things I could find in the family storage unit. Other parts of the book are written from a book Dad got as a gift from another A-6 Pilot named Rick "Slick" Morgan. He had some stuff about Dad in it and it has quite an extensive history on the A-6 Intruder so I used much of it as filler.

The A-6 Intruder is an old beast of a plane unlike our Veritech fighters with all the high tech gear and amazing technology. The Intruder after all could not "Morph" into a battleloid and run its' ass out of trouble in downtown Hanoi. It's an old fashioned "stick and wire" combat jet built to fly into heavily defended enemy targets and rain bombs on their heads. Ask any Veritech pilot to even consider that kind of a mission and they'll think you're smoking crack. But that's what my Gramps did in World War II, when all you have is paper maps, a compass and your eyeballs, guts and foolishness was sort of a required specialty. The Intruder was only a step up from those days twenty years later so having guts and some foolishness was still a requirement.

Though the Intruder doesn't have a sexy look, it was a well built brute of a plane. Dad said the plane carried unbelievable amounts of ordinance and was still pretty nimble, especially when everything had been "punched" from the wings when you had to speed and escape out of trouble. Dad actually outran Russian built MIG fighters in it and on two occasions caused them to crash into the ground trying to catch him flying "Gnats ass" low at over 500 knots!

I wish I could have had the opportunity to fly the Intruder. Having to depend on raw guts and the close companionship you built with the guy sitting next to you instead of an electronic voice and all the laudable bells and whistles of modern aircraft was probably an exciting and challenging experience. I'm not sure however that I could have put up long with Rick Hunter in the same cockpit. I probably would have punched him out after the first thirty minutes. My wife would have probably nagged me into the side of a mountain.

Enjoy the read.

Sincerely and soon to be dead.

" **Max" Sterling**

 **The history of USS Columbia**

The United State Naval Aircraft Carrier USS Columbia was laid down at Newport News Shipyard in Virginia on March 11, 1947 and launched July 4, 1948. She entered US Naval service on April 17, 1951 as the second of the three ship USS United States class, then the largest aircraft carriers built by the United states until the launch off USS Enterprise (CV-65) in 1959. The United States class were massive at over 1000 feet in length, dwarfing their previous sisters of the Midway CVB (Battle Heavy Carrier) class ships designed specifically for the never carried out invasion of Japan during World War II. The United States class was originally designed to be the US Navy's nuclear strike arm, carrying only three squadrons of the Neptune twin engine nuclear bomber.

Columbia's baptism of fire was in the Korean War when President Dwight D. Eisenhower ordered an all out offensive to bomb both the Communist Chinese and the North Korean's to the peace table at Panmunjom in 1953. Columbia carried an air wing of 130 planes (F-4U Corsairs, AD-1 Skyraiders and F-9 Panthers) attacking targets across North Korea and Chinese airfields across the Manchurian boarder, the Columbia was significant in destroying Communist supplies to their forces in the South thus hastening the eventual armistice that brought a shaky peace over the Korean Peninsula.

Columbia was then based out of Bremerton, Washington from 1954 to 1956. In 1956 it was sent back to Newport News shipyard to go through the Fleet Re modernization and Maintenance Program (FRAMP) to bring it and it's two sister ships United States and Lincoln up to par with the Forrestal class aircraft carriers. The entire flight deck was redesigned. Catapult and arresting gear systems were modernized. An angled flight deck was added to the ship giving it the largest flight deck space of any carrier in service able to support fifty planes at any one time and a Forrestal class Island and command structure replaced the old tower behind the first starboard elevator. After a four year overhaul, the Columbia was back in service in June of 1960.

From 1960 to 1965 the Columbia made multiple deployments to the Western Pacific and the Indian Ocean which were relative periods of peace save one incident in 1964 when North Korean MIG's shot down an American transport plane over disputed waters on the East coast of the Korean Peninsula. Columbia was sent to warn the North Koreans not to have further spurs of stupidity...which they did.

On September 3rd, 1964; three MIG 19's of the North Korean Peoples Air Force closed in at low level towards USS Columbia when they were set upon by two F-4 Phantoms flown by Lieutenant Commander Bill "Bunko" Wendling and Lieutenant Carl "Eager" Precise. The three MIG's engaged the Phantoms and were shot out of the sky. Then the North Koreans decided to fire a Silkworm anti-ship missile from a shore battery at "Haninpoe Rhe" which tumbled into the water five miles from the launching site. Columbia's battle group commander found it unnecessary to pursue taking out the offending launcher until the North Koreans tried again. Columbia launched an Alpha strike of A-4 Skyhawks and F-4 Phantoms and turned the missile site into scrap. The North Koreans finally decided not to press their luck.

By her first Vietnam combat deployment in 1966, Columbia carried a larger air wing than her other sisters which was "attack heavy" meaning she had more bombers than fighters. Her designation was CVAB (Heavy Attack Battle Carrier) with two AD-1 Squadrons, two A-6 Squadrons, Two A-4 Squadrons, Three F-4 Squadrons, One A-3D Squadron, one E-2C Squadron and one H-3 Squadron.

Columbia made four Vietnam combat deployments including the last mission to save South Vietnamese and American advisers as the North Vietnamese invaded the South in 1975. Columbia was the only aircraft carrier in a combat role; it's aircraft sent against North Vietnamese ground targets and troops to delay the final assault on the South Vietnamese capitol of Saigon.

With the end of Vietnam in 1975, the U.S. Military rapidly drew down to peace time levels. Columbia was the only one of the three United States class carriers to be put in reserve status. Both the USS United States and USS Lincoln were sold for scrap by 1980. The Columbia sat in mothballs until 1985 when materials were needed during the Unification War and she too was sent to the scrap heap for recycling.

History of VA-6 "The Black Rams"

VA-6 began in 1937 as Bombing Six (VB-6) equipped with the BT-1 Douglas Dauntless Dive bomber and was one of the most active and decorated combat squadrons in the Pacific War, experiencing its' baptism of fire on February 2, 1942 in the first US Navy offensive attack upon Japan since Pearl Harbor on December 7th 1941. Attached to the famous USS Enterprise (CV-6) Bombing Six attacked the Japanese airfields and shore installations of Kwajalein and Wotje atolls in the Marshall Islands chain then bombed the Japanese held US territory of Guam on the 24th of February 1942.

On June 4th and 5th of 1942 the Black Rams fought in the historic Battle of Midway under the Command of Commander Richard Best. The Black Rams dove upon and eventually destroyed two of Japan's four front line aircraft carriers and turned the tide of the Pacific War. Bombing Six then went on to fight in the Solomon Campaign at Guadalcanal, New London, New Brittany, Bougainvillea and Rendova until they were pulled from combat and sent back to the United States as a bomber training command in 1943 having been in constant combat in the most critical days of the Pacific War. VB-6 became VTB-6 and remained a training command as its Dauntless aircraft were replaced by the new Douglas Devastator in 1944.

Re-designated as VA-6, The Black Rams were put back into combat status and assigned to the soon to be commissioned USS Midway for the expected invasion of Japan in 1945 or 1946 which did not happen after the atomic bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki. VA-6 was then transferred to the newly commissioned Pacific Coast Naval attack command at Whidbey Island in Washington State.

The Black Rams switched out their Devastators for AD-1 Skyraiders in 1950 and were assigned to the USS Columbia in October of 1952. In 1953, they and USS Columbia participated in the surge of force ordered by President Eisenhower to bring both Communist China and North Korea to the peace table at Panmunjom. VA-6 and Columbia's other aircraft rampaged over the famous "Manchurian Death Strip" of the Yalu River region between North Korea and China attacking supply convoys, bridges and Chinese airfields which choked Communist forces into submission and forced the 1953 cease fire between North and South Korea.

The Black Rams transitioned from the AD-1 Skyraider to the Grumman A-6-A Intruder in 1965 and went with Columbia through four combat tours in Vietnam and Southeast Asia from 1966 to 1975. Following the end of the Vietnam War in 1975, the Black Rams were one of the navy squadrons on the decommission list as the US military drew down to peacetime status, VA-6 was officially struck from the Naval aviation registry on February 2, 1977 and never re-commissioned.

 **Chapter One**

Deployment day...August 9, 1967

NAS Whidbey Island, Washington State

Tradition holds that bands play and flags fly when fighting men put to sea. This is the framework of farewells. Yet the looks on the faces of wives, the children snuggling their heads into the stomachs of mom or wiping tears from their faces as they hold a favorite stuffed toy as if it somehow might replace the warm hug of a parent? The fear and trepidation on the face of wives...that is the true language of separation. My brother Keith was six years old when he sat on our Dad's shoulders as the base band struck up "Anchors Away" the navy fight song and the Black Ram's Commanding Officer, Commander Charlie Saffell, tried his best to ease the tension among the families of his officers who would fly their fifteen bombers and tankers into harms way over the Western horizon in Vietnam. For Dad and Andy Mescado, this was their first combat deployment.

How America ended up in a country which few people could pick out on an old world globe was through a bungling 50 year history of bad policies coupled with the "Red Scare" of world wide Communist expansion. The feeling was that if we dared to let South Vietnam fall like South Korea almost fell during the Korean War, the loss would fuel an unstoppable Communist juggernaut that would bulldoze through all of Southeast Asia, then Asia, then Europe and then the world. We had to fight in Vietnam to prove that we'd fight the Communist everywhere else. It sounded like an admirable concept to "defend freedom" but in actuality the situation in Vietnam was a continuation of a "fricked up fruit cocktail" which people seemed to forget that the Vietnamese had been a colonized and used people for centuries and they had reached the point where they were sick an tired of being everyone's "bitch".

Dad kept this one cartoon in his photo album he found in a Vietnamese made ant-war pamphlet that for me spelled out the whole rotten mess he and Andy were about to fly into. The cartoon shows two bull elephants locked in bitter tusk to tusk combat in a small room over a stupid peanut and two little married Vietnamese mice are whacking them with sticks trying to not to get killed by their stomping big feet and screaming in Vietnamese..."Both you idiots get out! We don't need your fricken help with our marital disputes!" The elephants were of course the United States and the Soviet Union. It was a common sentiment even among many South Vietnamese that the super powers were "using them like whores" to fight "their" war and then "shooting them in the head." Because the pimps got tired of them.

But that's getting too far ahead in the story. At the moment on the morning of the 9th of August; all that mattered was Dad trying to get Keith off his shoulders so he could "Mount up." Mom of course was all composure and flaming wreck. This being Dad's first time away from home for more than 30 days caused Mom stomach fits which I'm sure had a hand in my development. I still can't figure out how my hair ended up the shade it did, which I always blame on Dad's first deployment.

"Keith? Come off daddy's shoulders now? Mom said as she held her arms out. My brother clamped tight to Dad's flight gear.

"NO!" He screamed like mad. "NO! Don't go Daddy!"

Andy Mercado walked up and snatched Keith off Dad and he said it was like trying to hold a pissed off cat...

"Keith James Sterling!" Mom snapped at him. "You stop it right now!"

Keith used Andy for a jungle gym and clung to his flight suit as he held himself off the ground and pushing his sneakers into Andy's chest..."You better take care of my Daddy!"

"And who's going to take care of me?" Andy asked Keith. "Can I trust your Dad?"

Keith looked at Dad then back at Andy..."No."

Dad grabbed Keith and held him under his arm pits as he gave him a pouty face. "That wasn't a nice thing to say about your Dad young man. I'm counting on you to take care of Mommy till I come home. I can trust you can't I?"

"Duh?...I'm a Cub Scout ain't I?" Keith huffed. Dad put him down and rubbed a hand through his hair.

"Ok Scout. I'm holding you to your honor remember?" Dad said as he flashed the Boy Scout salute then turned to my Mom..."You alright? What a stupid question."

Mom tried to be stoic for Keith's well being but Dad could tell she was worried as hell. Keep in mind that this was an age before e-mail, texting, video messages, cell phones, chat rooms and 24 hour cable networks. Often letters between people on the ships and people at home came out of order and a long distance call from say Saigon? Oh shit and you thought monthly cell phone bills were bad now? In Dad's day...you really did live for long periods in black holes of uncertainty and getting a letter from home or from your husband and father was as precious a thing as gold.

She threw away her composure for a momentary collapse as she held on to him tightly. Dad looked at Andy with a smirk then tapped mom on the head...

"Sinny?" Dad said. "I can't fit you in the cockpit girl."

My mother looked at Andy..."You better keep him out of trouble."

"Damn Sin-cee...honestly?" Andy said as he pulled on my Dad's flight suit. "We're holding up progress Boss." And with one last kiss and a wave, Dad followed Andy to their Intruder where a plane captain stood waiting for them to walk up. The plane captain was a young enlisted man, usually an airman or a guy who had no assigned specialty and would be a plane captain until he got a specialty slot to fill (These guys were called "Non-Designated Seaman or No-Doze strikers)

The 19 year old plane captain was fresh from boot camp and aviation handlers school and passed a clip board to my Dad while Andy walked around the plane looking for anything to write up as a maintenance complaint (what you'd call a "Gripe")

The plane captain gave my dad a run down on his plane, at least he liked to call 503 his plane. Navy pilots attach themselves dearly to a plane once they flew and liked how it responded to their handling. Dad said 503 was awesome in that it had very few down times for maintenance, the electronics seemed to be of little trouble and the cockpit still had a fresh factory smell to it even after Andy cut some of the most abusive farts in history.

"You have full on the mains and wings sir. The belly spare is full and the other four are full storage "blivids" (A bliv-id was an external fuel tank converted to carry "luggage", a good way to get more stuff on board the ship for deployments) are full. Your fuel and parts weight is 26K (26,000 pounds) No issues to tell you."

Dad signed the sheet on the clipboard then walked over the Intruder himself, checking the tanks that hung from the weapons pylons to make sure they were snug fit to their carry racks. Andy had already done his look-over and climbed into his side of the cockpit to "set up house" as it were with the navigation equipment.

I'll tell you from experience that a one pilot cockpit of any military airplane can be overwhelming. Between keeping good orientation during flight, managing weapons, tracking threats and handling navigation; we're fortunate to have such an advanced technology like the Robotech system. Back in Dad's day, you had to have a two man system in jets designed for multiple purposes; especially the Intruder which was designed to fly in all weather conditions, at night and was able to deliver bombs within the inch of a fly on a tree. One man alone could not have done what the Intruder could do and yet handle all the threats and conditions you faced in Vietnam.

From what I've read, North Vietnam had defenses even the Zentradi would respect...If they didn't have the unfair advantage of millions of combat ships and didn't stand off in space out of range. Most pilots Dad flew with called North Vietnam a "steel porcupine" because everyone down there had something to shoot with...

"Even the kids had balls. They used sling shots."

No kidding. Dad was flying low on a mission and Andy saw a kid, he said probably about ten years old, shooting things from a home made "Y" sling right out of the Flintstones. Dad said he could respect such crazy courage.

The Intruder was designed with side by side instrument positions, pilot on the left and B/N on the right. Actually, a pretty good idea to split up responsibilities back then when you didn't have a lot of self-drive technology; the Pilot handled the flying and the B/N handled all the navigation and weapons responsibilities. Then there's the multiple eyes benefit against weapons like SAM's (Surface to Air Missiles) in which the North Vietnamese as Dad put it "Grew them like Broccoli stocks".

With two pairs of eyes, you had a better chance of seeing and avoiding incoming missiles than you did just as a lone pilot getting the shit scared out of you by the incoming warning sensor alarm blasting in your helmet. Most of Dad's assignments during that deployment was going after SAM sites and their radar stations; talk about purposely searching for a gun fight to get into.

As of that day when Dad and Andy left Whidbey Island, Andy was still single and the cockpit banter between them naturally went into family and all that while they were "Setting up house" and getting ready to leave...

"You do realize that in order to achieve higher rank? You MUST be a married officer?" Dad said to Andy as they went through the pre-start cockpit checks. Andy didn't hide his thoughts about their impending "in chop" to "Indian Country" Southeast Asia.

"I don't want to be in your shoes just yet." Andy said. "I know it's got to be tough as hell."

"Don't jinx us before we get there?" Dad replied. "They'll be fine. I asked Bob if his wife would be close to "Cin". Keep her busy, go out and do things together, be a leaning pole for support when she's upset. But trust me Andy, there is nothing like being married to give your whole life purpose."

"When I'm ready and I find the right girl Boss." Andy replied. "And don't you go trying to shack me up with one of them Asian girls? I've heard all kinds of horror stories."

"Vicious rumors." My Dad replied. "I'm sure not all the Asian girls turn out to be prostitutes. Besides, I don't spend time in the Red Light districts any way. The real fun is going out into the "Boonies" where your average horny stupid American doesn't go."

"May I remind you Boss that you've never been to those "Boonies" yourself?" Andy said as Dad looked down at his plane captain at the base of the boarding ladder...

"Time to open shop...GTC (Ground Turbine Compressor) is on...GTC start air pressure available."

Dad gave the "PC" (Short for Plane Captain) the starting signal and pushed the cranking switch for the left engine. "Left engine coming up, Idle stability is good."

Andy spoke into his ICS (internal Communication System. The microphone was attached to the helmet or a part of the oxygen mask) "Oil pressure normal, Ram Air Turbine stowed position, Canopy rail on my side is clean."

Sharing procedures and doing checks and counter-checks between the crew was what made the Intruders so successful. Very few of them were lost to accidents compared to other planes of the time because there was that "instant" face to face feedback...though pilots and B/N's were often "system jealous" of their own stations and duties. Pilots didn't like being told how to fly and B/N's didn't like being told how to "bomb shop" but Dan and Andy had a good working relationship.

After fifteen minutes of start and checks, Dad unfolded his wings and called the Whidbey tower..."Whidney, Ram Six requesting taxi to holding?"

"Ram Six you are cleared strait taxi to hold short on runway "Six Zero" The tower replied. Dad took one more look across the parking apron to where he could see Mom and Keith and gave them a wave before he signaled the ground crew to pull his wheel chalks.

"They'll be ok Boss." Andy said as he shook my Dad on the shoulder.

Dad released his breaks, taxi'd 503 a shot distance then slammed the breaks to test them on roll out...

"Brakes work." Andy snorted.

Dad taxi'd the Intruder out of the parking apron, onto the taxiway and soon 503 rolled down the runway and took to the air over the field...

"Navigation set." Andy said to Dad. "Heading 270 for formation flight. Distance 60 miles. Time at 270 knots...10 minutes."

Dad chuckled. "You should shark people with your time calculations Andy. You'd make a paycheck in a week."

The radio cracked in Dad's head. "Daddy...it's Ram nine, are we forming on you or the X.O.?" (Squadron Executive Officer)

"The X.O. "Dart" ("Dart" was the call sign for Lieutenant Darcy Benton) "Where are you?"

"High at your twelve and about fifty feet behind and fifty above your tail." Darcy replied. "What's the formation?"

Dad replied. "X.O. Will pick it when he comes up. Probably a balanced parade of three tier depending on the landing order."

Andy shook Dad and pointed out his side of the canopy. "About right...everyone else is coming in low about a grand below us."

Dad clicked his radio..."Little ewe, six kid?"

The Executive Officer replied. "You call me a woman again smart ass."

"Sheesh X.O. Not enough coffee this morning?" Dad replied.

"Just bring Darcy with you and fall into the second tier formation Mister Sterling. You are number six in the rotation. We all have to qualify so you "touch and go" on the first approach and "trap" (Trap means to land on the carrier and catch the landing wire) on the second."

Landing on an aircraft carrier "the old fashioned way" is a challenge few pilots dare to do since we have all these risk free gadgets available that make senseless to do, yet I do it all the time in the Veritech when the opportunity presents itself. I go totally "dead stick" (all the electronics off) and do it like Dad did it in his day...by "touch and feel" because honestly when your coming in on a low and slow approach with a nose up "attack" profile that's flirting with stall speed? You can't see anything in front of you. That's why a guy as good and as quick on analytic calculations as Andy was so good to have when the weather was lousy and the landing strip you're trying to reach is a bobbing object which at first the size of stamp in your sight as you come in on the final approach only to appear rapidly as a growing monster rushing in to break your landing gear off!

Four three inch thick multi-stran inside multi-strans of steel cable stretch across the landing area of the carrier. These "pennants" as they are called are attached to four mechanical engines directly below the flight deck and are caught by the "tailhook" of the incoming plane as it practically crashes onto the ship. Catching the pennant, the plane drags the wire behind it as the engines apply tension to slowly bring the plane to a dead stop in 300 feet. A really good pilot will snag the number 3 wire (3rd from the bow of the ship) even in poor weather and that's why you value a guy like Andy Mercado and you don't mind him blurting out "Distance...Time..." while your listening to the Landing Signal Officer on the ship (The L.S.O.) telling you "High" "left" "Steady" and "On the ramp!"

"WHAM!"

The main wheels of 503 struck hard on the steel deck and Dad pulled hard and sharp on the control stick while throwing the throttle controls to the front stop of the engine power controler and watching the end of the ship, the "angle" of the flight deck vanish from under his left wing...

"Nice Ram 3!" Came the call from the L.S.O., would have been a nice 3 wire. Return to the holding pattern."

"Rodger." Dad replied to the L.S.O. As he flew 503 up to the "wagon wheel" of jets awaiting to be called down to the final track run for landing. Dad paired up in the wagon wheel with Lieutenant J.G. Paine Kennedy and his B/N Ensign Gary Simons. Paine had been in Dad's Corpus class and was assigned to Intruders because his aptitude scoring didn't qualify for fighters. That doesn't mean he wasn't smart...just means that his grading didn't cut it. It left him rather disappointed, a grudge feeling he needed to ditch quick because not liking your job could easily get you whacked...as in dead.

"How'd you do on the bolter Paine?" Dad asked.

"Lousy." Paine replied. "Probably would have skipped the four for sure. I could use more deck time, the trainer planes are so different than this."

"You'll get the hang of it "Came-a-lot"." Dad said. "Yeah the A-6 is a little heavier than the trainers but once you get used to the feel on the decent? It'll come easy and natural, trust me."

"I want to shoot the bastard who gave me this fucked up call sign." Paine snorted. "Camelot"? I haven't got hair ass one with the Kennedy family, you know what Jim Riggert tried to do? He tried to pass me off as a Kennedy to some girl in a bar."

"Well you do cut a handsome Kennedy like figure." Dad snickered back. "They need to modify your seat so you can un-tuck those Godzilla legs of yours."

"Oh fuck you." Paine replied. Poor Paine was an unheard off 6 feet and two inches tall. Most Intruder pilots only averaged, like Dad, a very comfortable 5 foot seven to 5 foot nine. Even with pedal adjustments, poor Paine was in danger of having his circulation cut to his feet on long hour flights.

Andy called over to Gary Simons..."I have a speed/distance/time chart for landing Gary if you're interested?"

"Sure...shoot it over." Gary replied. Andy spoke and watched as Gary wrote the figures in his green note book. "What's the wager on this Andy?"

"Six pack at the next inport? San Diego?" Andy answered. "If you trap the number 3."

Gary flashed a thumb back just before Dad veered away to get into the landing circle above the ship..."Ram three you are number two in the wait...crosswinds at five and steady from the left, sea state remains nominal, you have a level deck."

Dad popped open his wing tip speed brakes, lowered his landing gear and dropped the flaps and slats with the tail-hook. From how he described the Intruder, it was an awesome low speed airplane with a very low stall speed between 100 and 113 Miles per hour depending on the weight it had at landing. A Veritech by design is a heavy machine with a very low tolerance for stalling which makes the Intruder a feather compared to a rock.

"Ram Three you are in the final...come cross leg to final at 3,000 feet...five miles." The Carrier ATC (Air Traffic Control) said on the radio. Dad started his final turn for line-up and the L.S.O. Called him..."Ram Three on final, call the ball?"

We don't use Landing Signal Officers anymore but back then they were a specialty pilots wanted in their service records. In Gramps days, L.S.O. used ping pong paddles to tell pilots what to do to get aboard. That went away in the 1950's with the Landing Signal lens or "Meatball" as the array of red, yellow and green lights was called that was set up just left of the carrier landing area. Both the ship and the plane was tethered together by a system nicknamed "Frezi-wig" which aided the pilot in "trapping"

"Frezi-wig" told the pilot if he was too high, right on target, or way too low of the target box which the plane had to pass through for an optimal number 3 wire. Too high and you miss the wires and end up bolting off the ship. Too low and you kiss the butt of the ship in a fireball. Landing a plane like this is worse stress than combat, my wife had to qualify "Dead deck" which means you land without any assistance gear with a guy who's probably at best a total novice in LSO experience. It took me only three tries...it took Mirya ten.

I'm glad she wasn't here when I wrote that.

"Ram three? Call the ball!" The LSO radio'd Dad.

"Rodger Ball." Dad replied. "Needles ten left and five top"

The "needles" are the initial signals that the plane catches from the "Frezi-wig" so to bring them into alignment, the LSO has to radio back Dad instructions to maintain or correct his attitude so that the systems agree with each other and they "pair up" so the plane has the exact information the pilot needs to land.

"Down two, Right three." The LSO called, telling dad to lower his altitude and "Jink" slightly right.

"Hold it! Three miles, 800..." The LSO told Dad to hold course and speed as he was three miles out at 800 feet off the deck. All this time, Andy's bouncing his attention between the speed, the altitude, the nose attitude and his speed/time chart...

"Up a little on power boss." Andy said. "On...on...left...on...on..."

Keep in mind that Dad can't see the carrier ahead of him because the Intruder's flying "nose high" in a controlled decent with a high "angle of attack" (Nose and aircraft set in a slow approach landing angle of ten to fifteen degrees)

"Doing good! Hold it!" The LSO called out..."Three...two...one...over the deck! On the ramp!"

The Intruder's main wheels contacted the deck with a violent shaking thump and quickly Dad threw the throttles to their forward stops in case he didn't snag the wire. The plane continued down the landing area until it came to a stop with a few feet to spare...

"Nice number three, Ram three...welcome aboard." The LSO said as Dad closed up the speed brakes, slats and flaps and threw up the wing-fold handle then scanned the flight deck for the aircraft handler to direct him off the landing area.

An aircraft carrier is a Chicago O'hare in minature. It's a loud, busy and chaotic ballet packed into nothing better than something the size of a closet with an ocean around it. Everyone on the flight deck has a reason to be there or they're stupid because it is the world's most dangerous job. The second most dangerous being an aircraft carrier at night.

We still use color codes for various flight deck jobs...Yellow shirts handle plane movement. Purple shirts manage fuel. Blue shirts tie down planes and handle the catapults and arresting gear. Green shirts perform aircraft maintenance. Brown shirts are enlisted guys who take pride in "owning" their various planes...so on and on.

Dad was directed to the bow by the yellow shirts and quickly secured to the deck by the blue shirts and his brown shirt plane captain popped the boarding ladders and quickly climbed up the pilot's side to do a quick secure of the ejection seats...

"Morning Mister Sterling." Airman Sandy Boyard said as he locked the seat safety switches then took Dad and Andy's flight bags. "Any problems?"

"None Sandy." Dad replied. "She's purring happy like always. Can you make sure the luggage blivids get emptied? The Port side one have gear for the line shack (The Plane Captain shop) and the tron guys (Aviation Electricians) The starboard ones have mine and Lieutenant Mercado's stuff."

"Yes Sir." Boyard replied. "I'll see it's done once we're in final spot."

"Good man." Dad replied as he and Andy walked off to "the island" (The command structure of the ship on the flight deck) where Lieutenant Commander Marvin Long, The Squadron Operations Officer stood by one of the entry doors...

"Opening brief at 7pm." Marvin said as he handed Dad and Andy their billeting assignments and other important information.

"Thanks Marvin." Dad said as he and Andy went inside and were soon walking through the passageways of the massive ship where activity to get settled in among the officers, chiefs and enlisted men was as chaos looking as the flight deck. Dad came across a sailor, a "non-dez striker seaman or airman" trying to make sense of the ship map he had in his hands...

"Hey ship mate? You're in the wrong place." Dad said to the Sailor. "Blue tile areas are officer's country."

"Sorry Sir." The man replied. "I'm trying to get here?"

Dad looked at the map and smirked. "Sheesh...someone should tell "In-doc" to teach proper seamanship. Come here Sailor." Dad took the sailor over to a "bulls eye", a painted yellow square on a wall or "bulkhead" that denotes with letters and numbers the location of any compartment aboard a warship...

"So right now Sailor, we are on the 3rd deck above the hanger deck which is main deck (The 03 on the Bullseye) This is the outermost passage on the port side (the number 6 after the 03) We're at frame 086 which is the forward or front bulkhead of this passage at that doorway down the passageway (086 after the number 6) and this is a passageway or "P" so the full number is 03-6-086-P. Now...you're looking for 3-0-100-L. Tell me what that means?"

The Sailor replied..."Third deck under the hanger deck, center of the ship, frame 100 is the most forward bulkhead and it's a living space?"

Dad bopped the Sailor on the shoulder. "You gain wisdom my son."

The Sailor excused himself as Andy smiled. Dad turned to him..."And this is why you need to be married Andy. It comes in handy with very junior Sailors."

"I would just assume follow the example of our Master Chief and kick the kid down to his bunk." Andy replied as they walked to the officer's berthing office and got their room keys...

"They have me with John Mackie." Dad said. "Ugh...Hank Williams."

"I'm with Marty Millar." Andy said as they walked to their rooms. "Sandy...efficient as always." Andy said as he saw his bags already in front of his door.

"Should recommend him for advancement." Dad replied. "He's already Petty Officer material."

"I'll drop it in Marty's ear since he's PC DIVO" (Division Officer) Andy replied as he unlocked his door. "I'll be up in the ready room in about an hour."

Dad replied. "I'll be visiting the Air frames Shop to show face. Later."

Even today with two crew or more aircraft, we don't put any of the crews from the same plane in the same berthing room for emotional reasons. Back in Dad's day you didn't allow attachments to become "tight"; even between Dad and Andy there was some aloof space between them because...well God forbid one of them dies in the cockpit on a mission. Having to spend even a minute in a room you shared with your flight mate who died in front of you would be too much, so at least when you came "home" someone familiar would be there for you to spill the guts too. Dad wasn't into John Mackie's country boy pursona but he respected him as a fellow pilot. Plus...unlike Dad..."Mack" had already done two combat tours in Vietnam with VA-75 "The Sunday Punchers" so he was good tidbits to nibble on about the "in country" experience.

The "staterooms" in officer's country now are no different than they were on the Columbia during Vietnam. They're small cabins just big enough for a double bunk bed, two clothing lockers and a single writing cabinet and the adjoining bathroom is worse than an airline bathroom. Our showers however always worked right, Dad's showers were at the whim of water supply and ship's systems...often boiling hot or ice fricken cold. You took quick and dip showers holding the cheep nozzle at arms length ridiculous angles in a stall not wider by an inch than your fat butt. Warships are not Princess Cruise Liners.

Dad and most of the officers had another unpleasant event...aircraft launches. The catapults on the bow went right over officer's country and they were loud when they were activated; the "cat shuttle" screaming over the cabin as it raced down to the end of the bow and slammed into the water-break tunnel at the end with a heavy thump! After a few nights of cussing and snarling, the body eventually tuned out the disturbance.

And so began Dad's "Far East adventure...embark aboard a ship crammed with 5,000 men to fly to interesting places to drop bombs to kill people in a war that to many...was hard to understand.

 **ATTACKRON SIX (VA-6)**

 **Officers and flight crews**

 **Vietnam Deployment 1967-1968**

 **Commanding Officer**

CDR Charles Saffell

 **Executive Officer**

LTCDR Oliver Goodale

 **Pilots and B/N's**

LT Kevin Sterling / LTJG Andrew Mescado

LTJG John Mackie / ENS Ken Whitaker

LTCDR Marvin Long / LT Kenny Keyes

LT Nate Marsden / LT Terry Wise

Darcey Benton / Conner Baur

LTJG Paine Kennedy / ENS Gary Simons

LT John Casserotti / LT Garrett Burgess

LT Reese Boyer / ENS Bill Lyons

LTJG Jaiden Roach /ENS Justin Smith

Delvin Gravett / Danny Doherty

LTCDR Anthony Casper / ENS Tony Mitchkulski

LCDR Robert Dybdhaul / LT Tony Gurrero

LT Andy Hoover / LTJG Rodney Haldi

LT Jim Riggert / LTJG Marty Millar


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter two**

August 9, 1967

USS Columbia sailing for San Diego

7pm Squadron Officer's Opening Briefing, Ready Room Five

The room was full as Dad walked in and was stopped by the room clerk, Petty Officer Dan Elseberry who handed him a packet of stapled paper. Some of the guys were clustered around the coffee and doughnuts table Elsberry set up at the front of the room while others were gathered in their "usual gang groups" of close friends. Dad stopped Marvin Long to point out a piece in the packet...

"We're going to be looking through people's mail now?" Dad asked.

"Not exactly." Marvin replied. "We are to remind the Sailors to be "tactfully efficient" in their communication of information back home."

"Lieutenant Nate Marsden walked by..."We're to warn them not to call LBJ a dumb ass." (Lyndon Baynes Johnson "LBJ" the President)

"That's the politically sensitive way to put things?" Marvin snorted. "But about accurate."

Three years into the Vietnam War, the concensus of most of my Dad's fellow pilots was exactly that...Lyndon Baynes Johnson was...(insert swearing here) dumb ass. He started the war in 1965 with something called "Operation Rolling Thunder" which by 1967 was known better as "The Rolling Blunder".

"Rolling Thunder" was supposed to be a slow progressive escalation of pressure on North Vietnam to stop supporting their partners and forces in South Vietnam; except you couldn't bomb Hyphong Harbor, where the majority of North Vietnam's war materials were coming in and you could not bomb much of Hanoi where all the war materials were being stored for eventual use. You couldn't bomb much of Hanoi where North Vietnam's industry was based nor could you bomb many of their airfields near the Vietnamese/Chinese boarder. To be honest? You could bomb only 5 percent of the 100 percent of North Vietnam's capabilities and the list of authorized targets changed every five minutes from the sound of Dad's frustration...

Not exactly the way to fight or win over your adversary. My wife is more blunt, had LBJ been a Zentradi? The women would have shot the stupid bastard for treason. With things the way they were back then with their form of media and communication; bad news traveled better than good news and by 1967 the people in America were getting enough juicy bad news between reporters and letters from the troops that they were starting to get more than upset...which is why the military was now being told to casually monitor what soldiers and sailors were writing to family back home.

Dad went over to the coffee table, got his cup full and two fat pills and sat with Andy quickly scanning over the rest of the packet before things got started.

"So we "in-chop" Dixie Station on the 31st?" Andy said as he pointed. "We're going to over-lap Midway's transit to Yankee for two weeks."

"Probably going to be conducting some major ground operations in the South and they want two carriers during that time slot." Dad replied. "Oh look...finally we're going to get up to date maps for Southeast Asia!"

"Hmph...the Pentagon probably sent a professional dick sucker to cry to National Geographic. Did you hear about that? Some of the guys in VA-175 were actually using photos of a National Geographic map of Vietnam to guide by. At least it had all the villages and hamlets in the right places."

"Of course it did." Dad replied. "Didn't you know all the pricks at the National Geographic Society were hard core Communists?"

"ATTENTION ON DECK!" Petty Officer Elsberry shouted as the Squadron Skipper and the Executive Officer entered the ready room. Now tell me any of us in Vermillian Squadron would have snapped to attention for Commander Hunter? You know Rick, he would quickly tell us all to sit down and stop being tight assed morons. Back in Dad's day, even a Master Chief got respect or you'd be busted to a mop handler.

Commander Charlie Saffell flew propeller driven A-1 Skyraiders or "Spads" before he flew Intruders and before that he flew F4-U Corsairs in Korea. He was the only other pilot to have killed a MIG jet with a "Whistling death" as the gull wing Corsair was called. This would be his first Vietnam War deployment with the Intruder.

Executive Officer Lieutenant Commander Charlie Goodall was making his second Vietnam deployment with the Intruder having flown once with the Sunday Punchers with an unfortunate distinction...he shot himself out of the sky.

Actually...his bombs shot him out of the sky. When Charlie flew in 1965 on the Independence, his Intruder was equipped with mechanical bomb racks like the one's the Spad guys flew with in Korea. Problem was...the racks didn't work well with the jet Intruders and when Charlie went to drop his load...it "came live" and blew up right under his plane...blowing the wings and most of the belly apart.

Charlie and his B/N had to eject over the Southern end of North Vietnam and went through two weeks to reach the safety of the south...only to get wounded by a nervous South Vietnamese soldier when both of them tried to approach the perimeter of the man's base. They both lived but it took a while before Charlie was ready to have another go at the cockpit and by them he was full of piss for vengence.

Saffell and Goodall took their places at the front of the ready room as all the officers took their seats...

"Evening Rams!" Saffell belted out.

"Ooooo...BAH!" The collection of officers replied with the Ram "Bah" call.

"So by now you've all had a chance to do a breeze of the papers so you have some idea of the work coming up for us when we get on the line. And yes...there is some expectation of another "pause" in the action as far the North is concerned...as in the usual, we pause for good will and the enemy pauses so they can fuck us all."

The comment enlisted a share of negatives before Saffell waved his arms. "Ours is not to cry and all that other stuff...we will still have plenty of work in the South to do, trust me. Now where is Ghost?

Lieutenant Anthony Casper stood up. "Here Sir."

"Get up here you miserable hoodlem?" The Skipper gestured. Casper quickly replied and stood before the podium.

"Would you care to face your adoring fans?" The Skipper asked.

"As you are all aware by now..."Ghost" has gained a fleet wide reputation for egregious acts of animal cruelty. During our last long stand in Whidbey? Mister Ghost decided that a spur of the moment low level air show over the village of Coupville was required to impress upon the local gentry how efficient their tax dollars were being used for national defense. Ghost just happened upon a heard of prize Holstein cows owned by one Mister Robert Minder of the Minder Meats franchise and thought these would be greatly awed by the low level display of Intruder 507." The Skipper snickered at Casper. "Well? Tell us what resulted you despicable cattle driver?"

People started laughing and calling Casper all sorts of names.

Anthony replied to the Skipper. "I impressed the cattle so much sir that I impelled one prized bull to chase my plane...unfortunately...sed animal forgot the rope secured around his neck and...well there was a cliff sir..."

Saffell remained serious which is amazing..."A cliff? So the prized example of Bovinian glory...committed suicide?"

"Yes Sir..." Ghost replied. "With my assistance."

"And just how did Mister Minder know the exact numbers on your plane there Mister Ghost?" Saffell asked.

"I uh...flew a slow pass over the farm Sir?" Anthony replied.

"Turn around and face me you sick, disgusting, animal murdering hoodlum!" Saffell snapped angrily. "If it were me you depraved bovine executioner? I would hang you from the tall mast and render upon you proper justice to appease the eternal torture of the excellent example of bovine manhood you maliciously murdered but the United States Navy seems to see your indiscretion as beneficial. You are out of uniform you silly dumb fuck!"

Commander Saffell took a box from the XO and removed two silver oak clusters from it. "You are now by the authority of the Navy and the President you magnificent flying slaughterhouse...Lieutenant Commander Anthony Casper. In the name of French BBQ, I kiss you...you ass hole."

The room lost it, the laughter was hillarious. Rest assured myself and our squadron under to command of Commander Rick Hunter have never done such debauchery...

And please don't ask how we made a jeep full of beer fly through the air. That never happened.

Commander Saffell continued..."Sterling, Boyer and Hoover...you've completed your section leader quals, good on you all. Enlisted Evaluations are due on the 15th for the upcoming advancement examinations in September, all of you Division Officers need to have them to me by the end of day shift on the 13th. If you're not very adept in putting "sweetener" on those evals? Go see Petty Officer Elsberry and I mean that seriously; our clerk has very good command of a thesaurus and punctuation usage...he doesn't keep those books on his desk just for display."

"Now...to the business end of our job. Those of you who have not been "in country" as of yet? We have enough talent who have been over the beach one or two deployments so pick their brains...better still if you're their room mate and for you experienced pilots? Show the new-bees the ropes of "Indian Country". South Vietnam as you know is unrestricted warfare, North Vietnam...I won't hide the opinions of many senior flight officers... absolute cluster-fuck. Trust me...I know all the bitching and it won't help us, it's not our job to make policy...we just carry out what the civilian leadership dictates...no matter how stupid they are or from what corner of bum-fuck Texas they reside in."

LTJG Roach stood up and snapped. "Sir! That's just wrong! I'm from Austin and damn it, my home's not "bum-fuck"."

Saffell threw up his hands..."Mister Roach? Did I say that all of Austin, Texas is Bum fuck? Sheesh...don't dare insult the Alamo around this guy."

"With all do respect Sir." Roach snorted. "The Alamo is in San Antonio? You ever been to San Antonio Sir?"

"No Mister Roach, I have not." Charlie replied.

"Then you don't know what bum-fuck is. San Antonio? Now that is bum-fuck."

The room broke out laughing.

"Alright Roach...due noted." Charlie replied. "Another thing I want to impress. Emergency procedures. We have a lot of time between now and "In Country" so I want everyone to eat and sleep and shit NATOPS emergency procedures. Quiz each other during down times, when you're not tearing up sky, when you're walking through the Hanger Bay...get those procedures in your heads because "In country" they could make all the difference between falling 5 miles behind enemy lines or 5 miles in friendly territory. Ask the X.O...even with a shattered plane he and his B/N kept their cool and were still able to get close enough to the DMZ to escape alive...sans friendly who fragged them."

The X.O. Replied. "I tried the standard phrase..."G.I. Joe in need of pussy and beer." I think the ARVN (Are-Vin was slang for Army of South Vietnam) heard "Yo! I'm a big dick bear!)

The officers laughed. Military pilots have to be a little light with humor, I mean look at Commander Fokker...absolutely no humor. How did Rick ever put up with him being so serious and smug? Every time Commander Hunter tried to play a prank on his older brother no matter how innocent? Fokker was like a Tasmanian Devil looking to chew up a tree. I tried holding him a couple of times from pounding on Commander Hunter...got the lumps to prove it too.

Saffell continued. "We might visit Pearl (Pearl Harbor) on our way to Vietnam but events will determine where we go from San Diego. We will certainly do port visits in Subic Bay during the line periods; that too being determined by events. In the mean time? Morale is a priority of all officers and Chief Petty Officers not just division officers, don't be afraid to spend time with the troops and peek their interest in our work, make them believe that what they do has a solid purpose and that we depend on them to do everything right the first time at every time. Sell up the squadron history, why are we "Rams", what's the purpose of Medium Attack? What's the end game? Right now for us the purpose is simple...as fucked up as the Republic of South Vietnam might be too some, at least it's not Communist. Our whole mission in life is to hold the Communist at bay and fill graves with dirty Communists. If your elisted men have any doubts, just show them those films of what the Communists did to the people of Aun Kei and Dak Ken hamlets in 1966...show them the little girls those bastards raped and stuck on bamboo like meat or the babies they fucken beheaded...that should make things clear enough. That's what the Communist will do if they ever get all of Southeast Asia."

I looked into the history of what happened when America left Vietnam in 1975. What happened in Cambodia from then into the 1980's when the then Communist Vietnamese ran Pol Pot out of power. Commander Saffell wasn't kidding. Even the Zentradi are not that wicked. It's one thing to pour weapons down on people from an altitude, it's totally different when they're being brutalized, raped and tortured in cells then shot to death in mass graves. When I showed my normally stoic Zentradi wife the pictures of skulls and bones stacked in temples in Cambodia? She actually got sick to her stomach. What happened to Southeast Asia...happened because the Vietnam War was so messed up by America's leaders. The common soldier though? He understood clearly what the consequences were going to be. Communism has no place nor tolerance for self-thinking people; which is why to achieve total control? The Communist regime has to kill the opposition...or brutally rape and murder it to put a population into submission.

So the first ready room meeting broke up and Dad decided to walk down to the Air-frames Division shop in the hanger bay. As Division Officer, Dad was responsible for the smooth order and function of 80 enlisted people who worked to maintain the structural and flight control aspects of the Intruder. Back then it was 100 percent hands on manual labor where today we mostly use robot repair stations where you just walk your battleloid into a spot and reticulated arms and computers perform all the needed upkeep. Dad walked into a compartment that smelled like a mix of coffee, oil, grease, sweat and smoke with enlisted guys dressed in green shirts and olive drab green pants in various stages of appearance. The first guy he ran into was a 3rd class Petty Officer named Steve Vance who was the "night shift lead" under the night shift Leading Petty Officer, First Class Petty Officer Elliot Rickten or "Ellie" as Dad sometimes called him...

"Evening Mister Sterling." Vance said as he stood at a vice shooting oil into a stubborn hydraulic actuator.

"Petty Officer Vance" Dad replied with a wave. "Where's Ellie?"

"Out on 510 working over the re-fueling basket. You know how that thing's been a pain in the ass?" Vance said.

"Does he have the evals ready?" Dad asked about the enlisted evaluations that were due. Vance walked over to the metal desk and pull a stack of papers from a drawer.

"Right here." Vance said as he handed dad the stack. "I'm not privy to the deep details Sir, that's between Ellie and Chief Magkasi."

Dad thanked Vance and walked out into the hanger to see if he could find Chief Andrew Magkasi, the Philipino Chief who ran air-frames as the senior enlisted division head. He found him with another enlisted man; teaching the junior about changing aircraft tires...

"Evening Chief." Dad said with a wave. "Got a second?"

The Chief told the junior enlisted man to wait as he followed Dad a few feet away. "So here's the evaluations, we have five people going up for 3rd class, three for 2nd class and 2 for First class?" Dad asked the Chief. Can you put these in order from top to bottom?"

Chief Magkasi scanned through the paperwork and gave it back to Dad. "There..."

"Thanks." Dad said. "Anything I should be made aware of?"

"Yeah...I think we finally have Davis settled down and out of trouble since the last ass whooping he took to correct his attitude. Simmons is a radar dot though...mother's not doing to well and naturally he's having focus issues."

Dad nodded. "It is hard for him. Probably the first time he's really been away from home for a big length of time. You've talked to him?"

"I've given him the "pep talk", told him that we can always schedule MARS grams for him to ease the strain a little bit. He's a good kid, very respectful...maybe an added boost from you will perk him up?"

Dad replied. "I'll do that. Let's plan a full shop meeting for shift change tomorrow and I'll fit in an after talk?"

"Great." Chief Magkasi replied. "Just a little warning? They might appreciate a little talk about Vietnam from your side, how you see it as a pilot."

"That's a problem." Dad replied. "I haven't been there yet. The best I can tell them is the standard "Ray team Ray" talking points but I'll do my best to add emphasis to why they turn the wrenches. I'll see you then."

The time was 8:30 in the evening so Dad returned to his stateroom where he found John sitting on the upper bunk tuning his guitar...

"Yo." John said. "If I bother you? Let me know?"

Dad pulled the chair from the writing desk and sat down. "Let me bother you if I may?"

"Sure." John replied. "What about?"

"What the Skipper said tonight." My Dad asked. "About "Indian Country"

"Exactly what Charlie said." John replied. "The only changes in the North are small outside targets around Hanoi and Haiphong Harbor and even there? It's a fucken nightmare porcupine as the reports call it. The only safe place for us is at night. You heard about that mission the Main Battery flew against the Ferry Slip in downtown Hanoi?"

"No." Dad replied.

"Two guys...Lieutenant Lyle Bull and Commander Charlie Hunter flew through downtown Hanoi at Gnat ass high with SAMs chasing them up the ass at 50 feet AGL. That's what Lyle wrote in his report. Every ass hole with a gun came out of the wood work. Chuck and Lyle plastered the slip with thousand pounders, blew the shit out of it and got out with their plane looking like it had done a low level over Nazi Germany. Chuck says the NVA fired 13 SAM's at their ass. The SAM's that arrive everyday unmolested in Haiphong and that sit unmolested in the Hanoi restriction zone till they come out to be shot at our guys. That's what LBJ and his gaggle of fuck tards have done in this whole crazy war. Down south? We do our share of the work, the enemy is getting slaughtered on the surface so the "Cong" (Short for Viet Cong, the Communist gorillas fighting in South Vietnam) is digging tunnels all over the place around Saigon. Down south we're clearly winning but the whole thing is mathematically not in our favor."

Dad rested his chin on his hands..."Fuck."

"Yeah." John replied. "For us to even the odds? Old LBJ has to go and man has to step into the oval office and rip up the Rolling Blunder playbook. Till then we'll mostly work over the South except on occasion LBJ wants to try and "impress" the North. So far? I don't think Ho Che Minh is too impressed."

"So what do we carry over the south?" Dad asked.

"Mostly 250 pounders and 500 pound snake-eyes with a rack of cluster bombs for trucks and armor if they venture south. We fly to support the Marines, the Army and the Navy River Rats in the Meikong Delta. Biggest ground fire threat down south is medium caliber automatics like 20 or 30 Mill (Millimeters) and small arms stuff. Up North there's sporatic SAM sites except up around Hanoi and Haiphong. Most important thing to remember when you fly up North is that you and your B/N have to be tight and eyes open, both trusting the other. And don't go sight seeing when you're up North...drop your shit and haul ass at full power...down low and don't slow down. And don't worry a whole lot about MIG's. The Vietnamese scramble only a few because they're precious and you'll never go in without Phantoms unless its' a single "in chop" and then the MIG's are lousy because they depend on their GCI radar's (Ground Control Intercept) to tell them where you're at. They fly some MIG 15's, more MIG 17's and some MIG 19's. They have a couple of MIG 21 squadrons but they tend not to send them out."

Dad nodded. "You know a lot."

"I've flown 58 missions. Bull and Chuck have more, about 100 plus so far. This isn't like World War II where you did fifty and went home to cake and pussy." John said. "I'll be open to take people up to Operations where we can all scan over the most current planning maps."

"That would be a great help." Dad replied.

 **August 13, 1967**

 **USS Columbia Departs San Diego**

I didn't think I needed to write every single mundane detail about the deployment. San Diego was a three day in port visit so the Columbia would take on the rest of the Air Wing that was based out of Southern California around Coronado ; The A-4 Skyhawks, The F-4 Phantoms, The E-2 Hawkeyes, The Helicopters, The EA-3D Skywarriors, the COD supply planes...in all the Air Wing added another 3000 people to the Columbia's normal 2500 man crew for over 5000 people and 130 combat capable aircraft. Now contrast that with the size of the SDF-1 and all the people we packed into it and the Columbia's nothing by a 40 foot cabin cruiser. Still...space aboard a U.S. Navy aircraft carrier was a premium. You'd pack everything you could into any space that might take it.

That's where Dad's ship took aboard the sister squadron, a Marine Intruder squadron; VMA (Marine Fixed-wing Medium Attack) 204 "The Shepherds" who's tail flash was the black silhouette of a German Shepherd head. They actually nicknamed themselves the "flying truffen hounds" or "Hell Hounds" which is what the Germans in World War I called the US Marines when they ran into them at Belleu Wood. They weren't as big as Dad's squadron, only six planes to Dad's 18 but with Marines traditionally small's not a bad thing. Marines are always good at doing more with less stuff yet squadrons with the same type of plane were encourage to share for the good of the Wing. Rick Hunter was all about that, lending screwdrivers, fuel and the occasional "not authorized" brand of help.

Now fully at sea and steaming Westward for Asia, the Columbia started getting into what made her the business end of American foreign policy; flexing both the flight deck and the flight crews in working up towards the first call to go over the beach and rain steel. The flight plan for the day was always posted 24 hours in advance and Dad's first flight from the Columbia was set for the morning of the 14th at 7am, a regular deck evolution of catapult launches and arrestments to be follow at 8pm by a night launch and night recovery evolution. If landing on a carrier in broad daylight can be somewhat stressful? Then landing in pitch dark is not much better even with the best equipment. I may show confidence like a flashlight in combat but trust me I am all knuckles when it comes to landing a Veritech on earth, on a ship in pitch black darkness with no moon when you are the one who has to do it and not the automatic system. Dad's Intruder had ACLS (Auto Carrier Landing System) back then but it was a touchy system to trust and most pilots felt better off "tit feeling" their way onto the ship.

So Dad and Andy met up in the morning, had breakfast, discussed the "Milk run" affair of the two flights or "hops" they would carry out, grabbed their flight gear and walked up to the flight deck where 503 sat among the other A-6's in "Truder-park" which was the designated slice of flight deck you'd park all the active Intruders for the day's flying. As the Skipper instructed, Dad and Andy quized each other silly with NATOPS emergency questions...

"Loss of compass." Dad asked Andy as they came out of the Island.

"Open the canopy and piss into the wind." Andy replied smirking.

"Seriously Andy?" Dad snorted.

"Secondary compass and spindle compass on the canopy frame to back up the information from the radar and Navigation computer." Andy replied. "Need to untighten your ass again. My turn...aft temperature light illumination, cause?"

"Leak in the bleed air duct." Dad replied as they neared 503.

"Leading to what failure?" Andy pressed.

"Electrical, Hydraulic and electronic failures in the aft tail section." Dad replied..

"Isolate the air conditioning system. Deploy the RAM turbine. Land ASAP. If under combat? Pickle everything but one fuel store tank if you have one and EGRES out ASAP." Dad replied.

Andy tapped his helmet. "See? You and I we gel."

Airman Sandy Boyard met Dad and Andy and took their flight bags. "Morning Mister Sterling...Mister Mercado."

"Morning Sandy." Dad replied as he started walking around the plane. "What's the skinny?"

"You have full main bags, full wings and a full centerline tank for 18K of gas. No big gripes, everything's set." Sandy replied.

"Good man." Dad stopped to look back at the tail and frowned..."Sandy? Dd you go out on the tail and pull the sock off the pitot tube?"

Sandy replied. "Yes I did Sir."

"Haven't I warned you before about doing that? One slip and you'll be swimming. Next time you have the plane pulled over the deck or I might just report you for disobeying an order." Dad said sternly. The Intruder had a long tail which on the ship, stuck out precariously over the water. There was this probe that stuck out of the vertical stabilizer called the air speed indicator probe or "pee-tow" in French. I wonder if that mean's "heated dick" or something stupid only French people come up with. Any way...a red safety cover was usually slipped over the probe on deck to keep out debris and salt and many a plane captain took their chances walking out on that tail to pull the flag off. One slip of course and you were going swimming which wasn't exactly a fun activity. Sandy looked like a whipped puppy when Dad turned back to him...

"Buck up Sandy...I only say that because you're a good man and you're not good for shark food. Sharks deserve shit, not quality meat." Dad said.

"Actually he really wanted to say your skinny ass isn't desired." Andy snickered.

Sandy put the flight bags in their place and watched Andy and Dad scale the boarding ladders and get into the plane as the Air Boss called over the flight deck communications system...

"Now hear this! Let's get everything ready for the first launch of the day! Crews man your planes. Flight deck crews check your safety gear, your shoes, your headgear. Sweep your bodies and the deck for FOD (foreign objects) "Cat" crews do your final inspections and test fire the bow cats. Let's spin em up! Flight Deck officer, the show is yours!"

Andy looked across at 505 with LT John Casserotti / LT Garrett Burgess and tapped his helmet..."Garrett? You guys will be on us right?"

"Yeah..." Garrett replied. "Just so you know? Five's Navaid system is being a quirky little bitch. Likes to drop so I might defer to your time skills. Do you do all that in your head?"

"It's a curse." Andy replied. "My dad's a bookie for the Columbo crime family."

Dad patted Andy as Sandy started to hook up the external starter tractor. "Here we go. Cranking left engine."

"Starting alignment procedures." Andy replied as he went through the buttons, switches and dials to "tie" the Intruder to the ship and a satellite. "Platform selector switch to standby position, compass switch to "mag", MA1 Switch to frequency acquire..."

Now-a-days...GPS (Global Position System) is so easy. You don't have to do hands on setting like they did. For 25 minutes the Intruder was "tied" or "mated" to a monster on-board computer on the Columbia which had to search for a satellite to "hook" too in order to tie ship to shore and ship to plane and plane to ship so the Intruder could navigate and keep track of the carrier or "Home Plate" as it sailed around the ocean. The system was vital when the whole fleet was in a condition of security where radio's were limited and pilots had no signals or TACAN to follow back to their ship.

It took twenty minutes for the whole system to become "Symbiotic" and you could loose it suddenly or have someone prematurely cut it off by pulling the yellow cable that ran from the Intruder to a "bank" along the flight deck catwalk...which is why Sandy was standing below in front of the cable hook up like a little attack dog on a mission. Just for fun, Dad waved a milk bone at Sandy's face and the airman gave him the finger back. By this time, the entire flight deck was full of noise from jets in various stages of starting or taxing up to the bow.

Andy waved at Dad and gave him the "pull cable" signal showing that 503 was now "mated" with the ship. Andy pulled the cable from the plane panel, secured it and threw up the pilot boarding ladder before tapping his head and turning the Intruder over to a yellow shirt plane handler. Sandy and two blue shirts then ran under 503 and pulled the remaining tie down chains from the landing gear.

"Ram three...FDC (Flight Deck Control) you are clear for taxi to the bow." The radio cracked.

"FDC...Ram three...roger." Dad replied. As he slowly began to roll the Intruder out of her parking spot. The Columbia's forward bow cats were into their work throwing jets skyward...one plane every four minutes or so depending on if they had to be briddled to the catapult with a thick cable or they had nose launch bars which would engage the shuttle.

There's two different types of catapult systems in a naval service. The oldest and most reliable is the steam powered cannon shuttle where you build up thousands of pounds of high pressure steam behind a breech and then let it out all at once in a surge behind what's basically a steel bullet with the plane attached to it.

The steam powered cat is a brutal monster. Hard on planes and ships yet less prone to failure and you don't want a failed catapult shot. You have that with a veritech and its' not an issue, if Dad had a failure...it was punch out or ride the plane into the water and then have the big carrier run over you. Not fun.

The second system is the MAGLEV or Magnetic Levitation system which is what the SDF-1 had. Even though MAGLEV is a more forgiving system for planes, it's more prone to mistakes and failures and it's a complex system you actually need college degrees to keep it up...maintenance wise. Which is why Doctor Lang never seems to sleep. Then again if you've ever seen that guy's eyes? You wonder if he ever sleeps.

An F-4 Phantom flew down the deck and went airborne as the Jet Blast Deflector (JBD) panels dropped on the left forward catapult and dad rolled his Intruder towards the start of the track at the signals of the yellow shirt who stood with the "Cat track between his feet as the shuttle passed under him and stopped at the starting end of the 300 foot steam cannon.

Launching a combat jet from a "Cat" begins with a blue shirt running up with what's called the "Weight Dial board" which is a spinning number board displaying the reported take off weight of the plane now approaching the track. Dad would read the number and reply with a thumb up or down to show the number was accurate. Now the blue shirt turns and holds the number to the Catapult communication box between the bow tracks.

From the "Com box" the verified weight is reported below decks to the main catapult setting room where they perform a quick calculation and set the catapult to a pressure setting accounting for the aircraft weight and a ten percent "fudge factor" which assures that when fired, the catapult will throw the aircraft at the required end speed to go airborne. They set the cat, pull on an arming actuator (Akin to pulling back the slide on a pistol) and report back to the comm box that the catapult is primed and armed.

Meanwhile, Dad's Intruder has been hooked up to the cat at the front by his nose gear launch bar dropping into the mouth of the catapult shuttle. Behind the nose gear, a hold back bar has been attached to keep the Intruder locked into the shuttle by a steel alloy dumb bell shaped piece set between the Nose gear and the hold back. In case the catapult fails to fire properly, it's hoped that the dumb bell piece will hold long enough before breaking for the crew to jump out before their plane is pulled to a plunge at the end of the cat stroke.

With the Intruder now tied to the catapult shuttle, one final check is ordered by the flight deck catapult officer as he waves an arm around in the air and orders Dad to "Throw and dance the plane" by moving the flight controls around and indeed the Intruder shakes and dances as squadron troubleshooters dressed in white shirts with black checker board designs look for problems.

When everything looks good, the troubleshooters throw their thumbs up and the Cat Officer gives Dad an all fingers up with an upraised hand telling him to go full power on the Intruder's engines. One last time to run around the yard and make sure everything checks out. Dad locks the throttles to the end stop and pulls up the strut lock leaver to lock the nose strut in place and prevent it from flexing during the violence that was about to come upon 503 and her crew.

Everything was set. Dad turned to the Cat officer, saluted and pushed his body and head back into the ejection seat as the cat officer went "around the horn" checking the plane and the launch track one more time for readiness and safety before he saluted dad, dropped to deck then rose back into a sharp cracking gesture with arm strait out and hand pointing down to the end of the bow.

In the catwalk, an enlisted man pushed the red fire button on the catapult control which opened the large launching valve at the rear of the steam gun, surging a huge amount of pent up steam pressure all at once behind two long "bullets" as you might call the cylinders which ran down the length of the steam cannon. Within a tenth of a second, the pressure snapped the restraining steel piece on the hold-back bar and the Intruder shot forwards from zero to 225 Miles Per hour...in less than 20 feet!

"You don't do that with a normal plane." Dad told me once. "It's like being shot out of Red Rider BB Gun; any normal plane would fall apart under that kind of sudden shock. MAGLEV's not like that, then again a Veritech is not an A-6 Intruder, you don't need that kind of violence to get airborne and most of the time we'll just switch to Valkyrie and leave like that from a ship.

So it takes less than 2.5 seconds for the Intruder to travel the 300 foot track and go airborne and for a second the plane's control surfaces have to adjust to suddenly being airborne so Dad and Andy would feel this sudden weightless drop as if the Intruder was going to go swimming. Then it trims out and they finally climbed away.

"After a while? You just go "eh, what ever." and continue with business." The fun subsides and routine sets in. Then again, routine can kill. Dad told me once about a Phantom that had the unfortunate end of having a tool left inside the fuselage on a cat shot. Everything was working...until the cat fired and the gravital force threw the tool into the flight controls for the horizontal stabs, the elevators that control nose pitch. Locked in ascent position...the Phantom pitched up violently as it left the ship, flipped onto it's back in the air and slammed into the water where it was promptly run over by the carrier. The crew never made it out.

After ten minutes at 15,000 feet over the Pacific, LT John Casserotti LT Garrett Burgess in 505 came gliding up next to Dad on his left wing and they went through a few navigation challenges to evaluate their systems and their performance...

"Boy this thing is being a bitch on the rag." Burgess called to Andy. "The Magnetic Variance Indication (MVI) keeps phasing in and out."

"Select Norm on the PAL-NOM dial and positive on the GY-NAV." Andy replied.

"Better to have it act up now than over the beach in Nam." Dad said in his radio. "They just had to assign you guys with the cunt of the squadron. They should send it back to Grumman so they can replace the wiring."

"The wonders of modern technology." John snickered. "That's why we have maps that are obsolete. I'd do better with a sextant."

Just for laughs...Andy reached into his bag and whipped out just that thing. An old fashioned navigational sextant.

"Where the heck did you find that?" Garrett asked.

"Bought it at a store in Seattle. I told them I was actually going to use it." Andy said as he played with the instrument. "Sometimes you can't replace good old fashioned accuracy. It's good to have back-ups to all our back-ups you know."

Garrett sounded a little happier. "Where do you get these tricks Andy? Now the system works fine.

"Experimentation." Andy replied. "Showing resourcefulness is a requirement for NASA."

Dad replied. "It's the only way Andy will get laid."

"Fuck you?" Andy replied snorting.

"Right now?" Dad replied. "Only Astronauts seem to be getting laid. People are getting a little short with guys in uniform back home."

Dad's radio cracked. "Ram Three,...Ram Five...home plate. You may return and enter into the touch and go pattern. Enter holding pattern at 5,000 feet, ten miles out."

Dad replied. "Home plate...Ram Three roger pattern and distance."

Andy set the navigation markers and pointed to the DIANE display on Dad's side. "Course markers set boss."

Dad turned the Intruder towards the indicator on his DIANE and flipped the auto pilot switch. "NASA huh? Not a bad career move."

"Space is where things are going to happen eventually boss. Can't stay here on Earth forever." Andy replied.

"Of course...we must expand our horizons to other planets so we can exploit their natural resources and rape their women like rapacious cavalrymen." Dad snickered.

"To boldly go where no man has gone before." Andy giggled. "Space Subic Bay."

"Star Trek." Dad snickered. "Ever notice how everyone dresses on that show like people in Piccadilly circus in mini-skirts? Someday women are going to get sick and tired of being oogled like sex objects and men are going to be in big trouble."

"Like you're one to talk?" Andy snorted. "How many times have you embellished the story of how you and Cindy Met? Now there's this water fountain in a public park? Sheesh boss...if you're going to create a porking story? At least make it believable?"

I won't go into that story. Even I think Dad at times was a brilliant bull shit artist. Mom's face is enough to prove it was a ghastly made up lie...then again my mother also has a good poker face.

Dad and Andy went through three cycles of launches and landings before finally parking on the bow and heading off the flight deck for something to eat at the officer's mess before they rested for the night evolution. They joined a table with John and Garrett and Lieutenants Nate Marsden and Terry Wise. Wise was in a foul mood over the latest ship's news print out...

"Representatives of Hanoi returned our latest proposal for peace in a plain brown envelope." Wise read. It was Lyndon Johnson's explanation for the latest failure of attempts to convince the North Vietnamese to stop trying to overthrow the South...

"Of course they returned it ass hole." Wise snorted.

"Gentlemen? Senator Wise has the floor." John Casserotti said smiling.

"Well hell man...damn I wish JFK didn't get assassinated." Wise snapped. "You know Johnson had something to do with it."

"Not our concern." John replied. "We do what we're ordered to do and not for old Lyndon. Besides...I don't see him getting re-elected. We should talk about more important things like my Yankees."

"Fuck the Yankees." Nate snickered. "Mafia humping cheats."

"Awww...is the wittle wed Socker all pissed off?" John snickered back. "Maybe if they weren't from "Bah-Stan" they wouldn't choke so hard on our Kielbasa."

"If we're not fighting the Vietnamese? We're fighting each other." Garrett said as he played with his French fries. "Wise does have a thought though...I mean, who would benefit from Kennedy getting whacked? The Russians and the communists wouldn't have done it. Johnson? Most of the military support bases and technologies are in Texas. A four year war would be a load of financial benefit."

"Speak of financial benefit?" Wise asked. "How does combat and hazardous duty pay work when we get there?"

John Casserotti waved a hand. "Combat kicks in only when you're on a mission run. Hazardous only comes about when the ship itself is in threat. The Oriskany and Forrestal guys got hazardous because of their fires."

"How did the Forrestal happen?" Dad asked. The Forrestal only happened two weeks before the Columbia deployed. The fire and explosions that ravaged the "Stall" were the worst disaster on a single American warship since World War II. It would later be found that a static short caused a rocket pod on an F-4 parked on the flight deck to shoot off and strike other parked planes...all of which were fully loaded with fuel and bombs for an air strike.

As a consequence...Columbia wasn't going to take chances. Anytime a plane was going to be loaded with rockets? It would be parked in the far corner of the flight deck by itself. It also didn't help that the Navy was trying to empty all its store houses of old World War II bombs. The "Stall" was loaded with these fragile, unprotected weapons which were vulnerable to fire and prone to explode without much of a bump. There are so many ways a pilot can "buy the farm" in the military. You're more likely to die in your own plane than in your car after a day of work, that's how dangerous things can get.

 **August 20, 1967**

 **USS Columbia passing Hawaii.**

Dear Cin,

We've settled into our daily routines now of flying and doing other duties around the ship. We are without a doubt running full speed to get on station off Vietnam as soon as possible. I hope you and little Keith are doing alright, I know how stressful this must be, this first time I'll be away from you has its' weight on me as much as you, believe me. Try not to let the news fill you with worry, I've got Andy by my side so what could go wrong? Be sure to remind Keith to say his prayers at night.

It shouldn't last long, only the separation from you makes it go so slow. Keep up your spirits, I'm thinking of you and Keith every day.

With love,hubs.

Letters from deployments were short and simple, especially in transit or when the cruises really didn't have excitement built into them like a lazy six month'r in the Indian Ocean. Then again because of military duty and the responsibility you had to your fellow crewmen, you didn't say much outside the standard "Hello, love you, hugs you, kiss you, bye." sort of reminders. There was the constant fear that the mailman was a secret KGB agent you know.

On this day, Dad wasn't flying. He and Andy were going down to the Operations planning room where some of the pilots who'd flown previous missions over Vietnam were going to give the down and dirty brief about how things worked "in country" as far as how assignments were handled, missions were planned and flown and how much of a stupid soup sandwich the whole "war" had become. Dad and Andy walked into a full house where they had folded up the tables and chairs and put them to the walls to get more room. John Mackee was one of the pilots involved in the brief and he was busy laying huge maps on the floor (deck) of the room (space). Some of the pilots were from various squadrons and their specialty aircraft like Phantoms and Skyhawks.

"Ok...adjust yourselves gentlemen and try to let people see from where they are." John Mackee said as he waved a hand and held a pointer stick. "So I'm Lieutenant John Mackee from VA-6, one of the guys who's flown more than 50 missions over Vietnam. I'm one of those who's going to give you newbies your indoc into the South East Asian Disney land attraction "Vietnam, the experience"

"Where Minnie's an enemy prostitute in Saigon and Micky's a coolie on the Ho Che Minh Trail?" One Marine from the Shepherds yelped.

John continued as he pointed to a map..."So for the geographically ignorant? North Vietnam, South Vietnam, Cambodia, Laos, Thailand, Burma. This is all Southeast Asia. North Vietnam, the communists, are trying to take over South Vietnam...chuckle...a Democracy. Laos is fighting the Communist Pat Tet Lau gorillas. Cambodia is fighting the Khumer Ruge Gorillas who are also threatening Thailand because of its' Khumer minority. Like I said...interesting brew of coffee here."

"Our business of course is Vietnam. We've been at this since oh 1957 and before us was the French and before them the Japanese and before them the French and before them the Chinese. We are not dealing with sand lot ball players, the Vietnamese are so fearless even China won't invade them. Mao Tse Tong once said..."A Japanese will bayonet you. A Vietnamese will tunnel under you and cut your balls off. At least the Japanese is a little bit humane. Don't go with all the racist crap beign slung by most grunts in Nam. These are not "Dinks", "Gooks", "Gomers" , "Rodgers", "Monkeys", or "slopes" these are Vietname and they have been fighting war since before Christ so give them your due respect.

"Down south of the DMZ between North and South Vietnam, it's all out warfare. Our principle tasking is ground support and contradiction, especially along the Ho Che Minh trail which runs from North Vietnam into the Laotian and Cambodian Eastern borders and into the Mekong Delta plain North of Saigon. For the Shepherds? This is your primary responsibility which is backed up by the Battle group commander...fuck the U.S. Air Force. And their Gaul for thinking they control the Marines. Marines support Marines, end of story there."

"For the rest of us attack guys, we have all of South Vietnam and Eastern Laos and Cambodia. North Vietnam? Pain in the ass."

John pulled back the map to show another map below...

Route pack assignments in Vietnam (1967)

John pointed around the map. "Here's the so called "Route Pack area assignments"" in North Vietnam that were supposed to "de-conflict" between the services...Yeah...works fantastic. Everyone say..."Bull shit!"

The officers replied. The way the war was being managed over North Vietnam in 1967, you wonder why the North Vietnamese didn't invade South Vietnam sooner before American air power got organized.

John continued. "Marines? You have number 1. Navy...5 and 6 Alpha. See the bulls eyes over Hanoi and Haiphong? We can't touch there unless approved by higher authority...I mean...the cock suckers who sit at their desks in Washington drinking 500 dollar martinis and throwing darts at pictures. It's about like that. Of course...Uncle Ho could give a fuck and thanks us for the protection we offer so he can get bullets and missiles and chuck them at us."

"Now...outside these areas we have the Alpha target list which is scrutinized by trained chimps at "Hah-Vad" as having the best impact on Vietnamese thinking. The purpose being? To communicate to the North our expressed request that they stop fucking around with the peaceful people of South Vietnam. Shake your heads if you think this is working?"

Most of the officers shook their heads no.

"Keep in mind everyone? Ours is not to question policy and leadership, ours is to do the best with what we have with what we've been "advised". Thankfully? Our leaders don't get "for life" positions. The people can replace them. Until then? We're fighting for our guys on the ground in the mud; that's our concern and contribution. With that I turn this over to Lieutenant Commander Long the Ram Operations Officer."

Marvin walked to the center of the ring of pilot and pulled the map away to show the next one...

"Gentlemen...this is the porcupine aka Han Noi, the Capital of the Democratic (laughter) People's Republic of Vietnam. This is the most...the most heavily defended piece of real estate in the world, there are more guns and missiles per each square football field sized chunk of dirt here than the Germans had guns over Berlin. They grow Surface to Air missiles here like broccoli. They have guns across the calibers from small arms to 120 millimeter cannons. They possess both radar and non-radar raged weapons. The principle SAM is the Soviet SA-2 Guideline which is cheep to produce but deadly as hell. No doubt the Intruder drivers head about Charlie Hunter's one plane show by now? He and his B/N weren't joking unless you need to see a picture of their plane when it came back to the Connie?"

Pilots were looking at each other as Marvin changed the map..."Han Noi...Hi Phong. The inner defenses are stiff but don't count out the out lying villages and towns, they're being brought up to speed thanks to President Johnson's lack of nuts. The Vietnamese run their air force out of bases in China and close to the ChiCom/Viet boarder where we can't fly without risking an international incident. The Vietnamese People's Air Force runs MIG 17's, MIG 19's and MIG 21's and don't knock the MIG's, they might be simple but they're fast turning, fast climbing and nimble little bullets. They'll give you pleasure if you like airborne fighter jock sex."

Lieutenant Danny Doherty, a Ram B/N, leaned over to Andy..."Can we outfly MIG's?"

"If we're slick? (Nothing on the stations) yeah. I'd like to see a MIG 19 try to hug low level with us. That might be fun." Andy replied.

Marvin finshed his portion of the brief and handed the pointer to the Ram's X.O. Lieutenant Commander Oliver Goodale. "So two worst environments...going low and dealing with the guns or go high and deal with the SAMs. For those of us flying the Intruder, not so much a problem because of all the cool tronics Grumman packed into our ugly ass airplane. Both the Sheps and the Rams are due to get their first "B" model intruders when we in chop to Dixie Station. The "B" will give us SAM kill capability and I may add it will be better than the Air Force Thunderchiefs' (F-105) and their "Wild Weasels"." Oliver chuckled. "Wild Weasel"...sounds like a sex act a hooker in Subic would perform if you ask me."

The officers laughed.

"I didn't say it was funny did I gentlemen?" Oliver snorted. "And while on the subject of hookers in Subic? When we visit "happy go fun land" don't go blabbing about your job, your ship, your missions or your planes. The world's "oldest profession" is also a professional tid bit pot for the KGB and every other ass hole in the world wide communist union. The hookers know our deployment schedules better than the enemy."

"So what about the SA-2 or what we call "Ma Bell" because its' a flying telephone pole that reaches out to dead letter your ass. Well the Intruders have the best Electronic Countermeasures System in the Navy other than the A3-D Skywarriors and the A-5 Vigies. The rest of you? The A-4 and F-4 have low grade ECM and the "Buzbee Birdwells" the annoying aural alarms that detect missile guidance radar and missile conical scans. The best way to take on a Guideline is nose on nose then hard jinking turns in combination with punching chaff."

Note: Chaff was invented during World War II. Basically a cloud of aluminum strips thrown by a plane to fool a missile to chase a much larger and juicer target.

Oliver continued. "The Vietnamese you'll find have magnificent fire discipline, they don't shoot wildly because they have so little stuff available even with the donations from Uncle Mao and Cousin Joey. When they chose a target for SAM's they will often barrage on that one plane and don't think they're looking to hit. They want you to go low so their guns can chew you up, which is how most of our guys are ending up in the Hanoi Hilton."

"If you go low to avoid SAM's then you better shake your ass, you better be full throttle and throwing that plane around like a slalom skier because everyone with a rock or a gun wants your ass. A lucky peasant farmer outside Han Noi will make 20 grand for taking down an American plane so you can bet every kid rock slinger with a hard on will be looking for you.?"

Oliver looked around. "That's it for this little briefing. Now if you guys want to hang and ask questions? Fantastic...you can't learn enough. The more you soak in? The better your chances of going home. That's all."

As the briefing broke up. Dad and Andy walked over to Marvin Long. "So Marvin? You said that most of Hanoi is off limits save whatever is requested by higher authority? What big targets are in town?" Dad asked.

Marvin walked over to the stack of maps and pulled out the Hanoi map...

"Thank the men of great wisdom at D.C. who have made the Vietnamese job easier. There are two big targets that have been the off and on again pains in the ass for us in terms of little gain for a lot of pain. There's the Tong Ha bridge here and to the North the Paul Domer bridge."

The Paul Domer bridge over the "Red River" in Hanoi (1967)

Both bridges were built by the French in the late 1800's and both of them are like battleships. We've thrown up to 1000 pound bombs and some Bull Pup missiles at the spans and they won't go down. Add to that? The Vietnamese have parked enough guns and SAM's around them to make a walkway. These bridges are vital to Hanoi feeding its' forces with good quality gear and maintaining the flow of SAM's they're spreading all over the North; which is why the Air Force has been most active against them. Other than those two? There's not much else significant we could bomb that would change the progress of the war."

Andy asked. "Where's the Hanoi Hilton at?"

Marvin pointed down. "Building number 196...Pho Noi Prison.. Right now they have around 18 pilots that we know of, of the total numbers that have been shot down since a vacation spot any of us would want to find ourselves in so do your best not to get shot down over Hanoi."

Andy turned to Dad and sighed..."Puts that in plain English huh?"

"You will try extra hard not to get us shot down right?" Dad asked Andy.

"Your vote of confidence is so reassuring boss." Andy replied with a snort.

 **August 23, 1967**

 **USS Columbia 2nd launch cycle**

"Thump!" The jolt of the catapult end cycle shook the plane and 514 was climbing away and in a gradual right hand turn up to 20,000 feet. Today Dad and Andry drew the very mundane and very boring job of "Texico" in a KA-6D tanker. The "Kang-roo" was an A-6 stripped of all the bomber equipment and carried a hose and nylon drogue net or "shuttle-cock" in a mechanical spool assembly mounted to the electronic service hatch or "Bird cage" assembly under the plane's tail. The KA-6D carried 24,000 pounds of JP-5 jet fuel both for itself and for other airplanes; it's five weapons stations carrying five 3,000 pound fuel tanks. With 9,000 expected to be burned over 2 hours worth of flying, the KA-6B could provide 15,000 pounds of fuel to needy jets...usually fighters because the F-4 was a water hog on even normal days.

Once Andy set the navigation computer, he didn't have anything else to do until someone showed up needing gas so he did what station attendants do, pulled out a paperback book and sat reading it intently...

"The Outsiders?" Dad asked him. "Sheesh, I read that in high school."

"It's actually not a bad read." Andy replied as he turned a page. 'Glide path, Minimal Altitude. What's the presentation on the pilot's VDI screen?" Andy asked a NATOPS question...

Sky, ground with no road presentation on the ground side, centered reference marker and centered "pip" fall.

"Right" Andy replied as he kept reading his book.

"My turn." Dad replied. "The letter "S" in the NOMATS codex?"

"Static Air Pressure" Andy replied. "I need more complex questions...like some math problems."

"I'll have to write those out." Dad replied. "Hang fire on weapons station two. Six Mark 82 Bombs, selected 3 of six, three fail to fire. What do you do?"

Andy replied. "Select single, acquire and drop. If the single drops then its' a series selection problem between the computer and the station bus. EGRES out, pop and re-set breakers, re-select multiple, INGRES and attempt to drop again. If it fails, you've lost multiple selection. Complete selection failure? Punch loads and go home."

The radio cracked. "Ram Texico, Home Plate. About one five Mike you should have two phantoms from Six Guns with a request. Both need 2K (2,000 pounds) top off for landing cycle."

Dad replied. "Home Plate. Ram Texico. Total 4K for 2 Phantoms roger. Currently holding two, three, three, zero, zero bringing us to 19K over?"

"Affirm Texico." The Columbia's Air Control replied. "Sixgun Two, Sixgun Seven. Meet up with Texico at 20K feet at fifteen miles course 290."

Dad heard the Phantom drivers reply and set his tanker to fly slow under 230 knots so Andy could spool out the hose and drogue assembly.

"4K entered in an ready boss. We'll have 3K to give out after that for another ninty minutes." Andy said to Dad.

"Roger." Dad said as he set his auto pilot to fly the KA-6D on a large slow racetrack circle in the sky as the first Phantom came slowly up from below...

"Texico, Sixgun two. Gooood morning. Lieutenant Commander Barlow at your service." The Phantom pilot said.

"El Cad-ar, Lieutenant Sterling at your pleasure with 2,000 pounds of gas. Your windows look dirty and your covered in oil, I think you need to scold your Plane Captain more often." Dad replied. "Where's your wing man?""

"Behind you and about 75 feet below the basket. He's first for a top off, Lieutenant Greer." Sixgun two replied.

It must really have sucked to pull tanking duty. Now-a-days we have drones that do it and they can get close to combat areas because they have no crew to risk. Some would have thought drones would have taken over after they performed so well in the Unification Wars; however...some one probably complained about all the pilots having heart attacks and strokes from their non-plane flying lazy lives. No seriously, the drone age killed more people from hardened arteries and "fat ass-ee-yah" disease than anything else. Hence why there are no Veritech drones. Plus it might not have been due to so many "autonomous" drones blowing up their own stuff...at least that's the running rumors.

"Set him up Andy." Dad said as he switched his radio to Sixgun Two's wingman. "This is Texico. Speed Two Three Zero in a five degree port bank. Approach when ready."

"Texico this is Sixgun four coming up low and slow...contact in...three...two...one..."

Andy saw the drogue contact light come on and replied. "Contact. Transferring 2K now. Five minutes."

Dad looked over at the other Phantom. "Hey El-Ca-dar? You ever been up North in Vietnam?"

"Yeah...twice with VF-161 off the Midway in 66. I was with Mugs McCune when he downed the first MIG out of Kep airfield." The phantom pilot replied.

"Is it as bad as they say? Anti-aircraft wise?" Dad asked.

"For the Scooter drivers (A-4 Skyhawks) it's a nightmare. You Intruder drivers shouldn't have that much of a problem...if they use you guys right." Barlow replied.

"Very little chance of that unless it's poor weather in the day time. From what I read, they use the Intruders around the clock when we're better off at night." Dad said as he looked over at Andy to see him shutting off the fuel flow and signaling with the drogue lights for the other Phantom to detach from the shuttle-cock.

"Thank you Texico. Sixgun four is out and down to port." Dad saw the Phantom veering away on his side as Barlow's plane began to slip down and towards the drogue.

"Texico this is Sixgun Two coming up low and slow...contact in...three...two...one..."

Andy saw the drogue contact light come on and replied. "Contact. Transferring 2K now. Five minutes."

"Hey Barlow?" Dad asked. "My B/N needs to find a female companion and I stress "Female" tell him what Saigon is like."

"The girls in Saigon look like they were pulled out of a classical Asian art print. No doubt they are the most beautiful women in the world...and...half of them are Viet Cong." Barlow replied. "Fight by day...fuck by night."

Andy shook his head. "Seriously?"

"No joke man." Barlow replied. "They're all Viet Cong till they climax. Mostly? They skillfully employ razors in their snatch to chop your cock off."

"Fuck!" Andy yelped.

"That is no joke dude, seriously as hell." Barlow replied. "Better sweep the battle space before you fire the heat seaker."

Dad was laughing his ass off. "Barlow? You're going to traumatize my B/N!"

"Mission successful...fuck!" Andy yelped. "I think my dick went into retraction mode here."

"Relax man." Barlow said. "Actually Saigon is a mainland fun town, the women aren't that bad. Take my advice and do your hunting away from the red lights, like around the University of Saigon? At least the whores have Doctorates in theology. They can bore you to death while they screw you."

Andy switched off the fuel. "And with that class in Asian sex education complete? You may retire professor "Horn Dog"."

"Thank you Texico. Sixgun Two is out and down to port." Dad saw the Phantom veering away on his side and waggled his wigs at Barlow and got a waggle back.

"We should hang with that guy if we port visit Saigon. What do you think?" Dad asked Andy.

"I think I should find out if they have steel vest for dicks." Andy snorted back.

 **August 24, 1967**

 **VA-6 DRB (Disciplinary Review Board)**

Subject: Airman Wade Sampress from Columbia Tenn.

Change: Physical and Verbal assault against one Airman Deshon Howard

Previous problems: Disrespecting a Chief Petty Officer and Hygiene issues

Dad hated DRB...then again most officers rarely enjoy similar hearings, I sure don't like them when I have to be involved. Mirya doesn't seem to have that problem in her division, then again Zentradi are not known for taking hooliganism lightly.

In Dad's case, a DRB was like the last prevention step before you sent someone up to the Executive Officer and the Commanding Officer which can seriously mess up a person's place in a command or their life. Officers hate these boards because in some way it will reflect back upon them as leaders which in my mind isn't fair because you can't control a person all the time...Commander Hunter! Now there is a DRB king for you, and somehow Rick always drags me and Ben along for the ride...not that we don't tag along with him as some way of preventing his excursions from becoming disasters. I refuse to talk about the jeep full of beer, that never happened thank you!

So at this DRB sat Dad who was the division officer, Chief Magkasi the leading chief of the division, Master Chief Earl Block, the Squadron's senior enlisted man and three wittnesses to Wade Sampress's latest act of stupidity. And it all started...over a stupid wheel chock left in the wrong place.

So Master Chief Block calls in Sampress before the table set up for the board and both Dad and Chief Magkasi in turn inspect his uniform and appearance, which to their shock was pretty good in order. Sampress was not well known for both hygiene or a well kept uniform. He got so bad at one point that some of the crew threw him a "blanket party" which pretty much involved getting his ass beat in his rack then dragged to a shower to get "force scrubbed" with bristle brushes. Back in Dad's day, you handled bad apples with fists and gang beatings not sugar and weakling shit like these days where if you even waved to a female aboard a ship? It might get you kicked out of the service as a sex harasser.

Case in point? We were conducting emergency drills and after which the crew was going to partake in a "pizza evening". Well Mirya's division leading enlisted man wanted to carry training over just another 15 minutes for extra emphasis and this female starts bitching at him, going on how she's going to miss "Pizza Evening" and that the extra training was against regulations and how she was going to report him and all this stupid crap. Well she didn't count on Mirya overhearing her bitching.

Mirya walked up, snatched the girl and almost jacked her off her feet..."You will shut up and perform the required training. You may never know if this will save your life but I promise you if you continue this bull shit of yours? I personally will be the first person that of shit does go down and you die? I personally will shove your fucken ass in a damned body bag! Do you understand me?!"

Well...sed now wet in the panties female ran to the "H.R." and filed a complaint, which Captain Global had to respond too. He gave Mirya a gentle reminder that we were a "kinder and gentler" military than the Zentradi and thus...we had to give place to being sensitive to the emotional needs of our people. He then asked her that next time she shouldn't jack a person off the ground unless she was able to score net points with their stupid ass.

Back in Dad's day, there had to be harsh discipline without giving overtly too much respect to any one person nor any group of people from some sort of "social status" a military is not a social club, this isn't the co-ed scouts, this isn't YMCA camp, it's an organization designed to break things and kill people; that's our entire function of existence and in Dad's case you have a ship filled with 5,000 people going to a country for the express purpose of blowing shit to bits and turning people into hamburger and the whole ship has to be pointed to that mission and to be so pointed, it had to function as a single mind tuned to work as one being and anyone threatening that single being got jumped upon like a cancer and dealt with in the most harshest way possible. Hopefully you set them back to rights and at the same time send a serious message to the other 4,999 bodies around you...do not FUCK with the order of things!

So it was that Master Chief Block stood up at his chair and read through the charging sheet...

"Airman Wade Sampress...on the 22 of August 1967 at around 1600 hours in hanger bay two, you got into an altercation with one Airman Deshon Howard where you used a racist epithet and threatened to "Kill" sed Airman by waving a wretch in your hand. Is that true? And please don't try lying to me son because I absolutely kill liars."

Sampress replied. "He pushed me off my feet and into an aircraft main gear Master Chief. The plane was up on jacks."

Master Chief Block looked at Dashon Howard. "Is this true Airman Howard?"

"The airplane was on jacks Master Chief. But I didn't push Airman Sampress. I tripped over some rubber tire chalks that were left lying on the hanger floor and fell into Airman Sampress. I said I was sorry."

Dad caught Sampress cocking his eyes away and up and stood at his chair giving the table a light pounding with his hands. "Mister Sampress? You have a problem with your eyes?"

"No Sir." Sampress replied.

"I'm sorry...Your little attitude display must have been my imagination? Do it again Mister and see what happens."

(Writers note: This is based on an actual Navy DRB)

Master Chief Block turned back to Sampress..."You have a problem with that explanation?"

"It wasn't my fault the chocks were in the way Master Chief." Sampress snorted.

"No one is accusing you of leaving them there Airman." The Master Chief replied. "You were working on that plane at the time of the incident correct?"

Sampress replied. "I was applying sealant to the bolt holes for the armor panels on the wings Master Chief."

"So...is Airman Howard lying about his description?" The Master Chief asked.

"He called me a no good Honkie." Sampress snapped.

"I called you that after you called me a fucken NIGGER!" Howard snapped back.

The Master Chief snarled..."Both of you at attention...NOW!" and both enlisted men turned into statues.

"Petty Officer Harvin from VA-187 (One of the A-4 squadrons on the ship) what did you see? You were working on a Skyhawk closest to the altercation.

Kevin Harvin stood up. "Master Chief...I saw Airman Howard trip over the chocks and land against Airman Sampress. Airman Howard started to say something which I only caught "Damn it...you stupid idiot." Then Airman Sampress recovered from landing against the landing gear of the plane and called Airman Howard a "Dumb fucken nigger" Then Airman Howard said "Fuck you, you stupid honky mother fucker." Then Airman Sampress grabbed a wrench and threatened to beat Airman Howard into a pile of bloody nigger meat and that's when I stepped in to dis-arm Airman Sampress."

The Master Chief turned to Howard. "Did you truly say sorry mister Howard?"

"No Master Chief." Howard replied. "I thought Airman Sampress had left the wheel chocks out on the deck."

The Master Chief turned to Sampress. "Did he call you a Honky before you called him a nigger?"

Sampress gave another quick eye pop and Dad tore into him..."You disrespectful little shit! You want to do that eye roll bull shit to my fucken face!" Dad stormed from his seat and got eyes to eyes with Sampress..."Do it again you little fuck! Move those fucken eyeballs up again! You are this close...this fucken close to a bad chicken dinner (Bad Conduct Discharge) you little fuck and I promise you? You won't get a fucken coffee let alone pump fucken gas when we kick you out on the street! You better wise your act up!"

Dad returned to his seat and brooded as the Master Chief asked Sampress again. "Did Airman Howard...call you...a honky...before you called him a nigger...Mister?"

Sampress looked like a whipped puppy..."No...Master Chief."

Master Chief Block looked around the room. "All are excused from this DRB except for myself, the DIVO, the Division Chief and Airman Sampress. As for you Airman Howard? You and I are going to have a little chat in my office when this is done...dismissed."

Dad said you could have heard a mouse chatting in that room for an eternity, that's how long the silence lasted...probably to Sampress who was by now sweating bullets or pissing himself...

Master Chief Block sat grinding his teeth..."Well Mister Sampress? I'd say you pretty much gone beyond FUBAR with this latest expression of yourself. The eye rolling didn't help you at all nor pissing off your division officer nor the lying...but...being that I am of the African persuasion...your express usage of the word "Nigger"...now that really pisses me off, not that your upbringing may or may not have had some influence in its' development but one would think that after even six months in the United States Navy you would learn that we're not thankfully like the rest of the country. We must work together, live together and get along with each other because if we can't do that then we all die...like the poor guys on the Forrestal. It seems these things did not sink with you because as you seem to forget when you get into trouble as you have? Your locker isn't your locker, your locker is the Navy's locker and when the Navy finds things in your locker that says things like "Dead Niggers" "Kill Niggers" and "Cook screaming niggers alive" well...that's that. Need I say anything more?"

Master Chief looked at Dad..."Yes...the eye rolls and the "fuck you" attitude sums it up. No...Mister Sampress...the proper term here is "Fuck...you."

Chief Magkasi was more blunt. "If you were in Subic right now? You'd be on a missing persons poster. The Nagreto people would love to boil your sorry ass."

Master Chief Block grabbed a sheet of paper from the table..."Airman Sampress. You are hearby turned over to ship's Master At Arms to await XOI, Captains Master or Courts Marshal." Two Master at Arms came into the room, read Sampress his rights, cuffed him and took him out of the room.

Dad looked like he'd been hit in the face with a hammer. "How in the hell do we get these kind of people?" He asked.

Chief Magkasi replied. "What do you want for the draft? Don't put this on yourself Sir. Usually guys like Sampress don't affect your evaluations unless you can be pinned as the cause. Some people just won't be helped no matter how hard we try. But the race problems are going to worsen."

"Don't remind me." Master Chief Block sighed..."Do you know what it's like trying to be a black man in authority trying to bounce his concerns for his people with the Navy's needs? Without my wife I am the loneliest black man in the Navy. I got other Chief's all stoked on this "black pride" and "Africa first" thing and dare me to say..."It's all well and good to love our heritage but pride and color won't put food on my family table dig?"

Dad smirked. "I always took you for a Malcolm X kind of guy Master Chief."

"They killed Malcolm, the black muslims, because he told the truth many black folks didn't want to hear. Man was more harsh on us than the white people. But you're right...the race problem is only going to get worse. We're going to have to push more effort into building a communal mindset and stomping these "race pride" ideas into the dirt. All it would take is one man to stab another on this ship and the whole powder keg will go up in our faces. I'll brief the CO and XO on it."

 **August 24, 1967**

 **VA-6 Ready Room**

7pm News tape and ballgame night

Dad got a bowl of chips and one of cheese dip and sat with Lieutenant Commander Darcy Benton and Lieutenant Andy Hoover as the news (days old) played on the ship's television. Now of course this is way before the internet, Facebook, Skype and all the modern (Modern? It hasn't been that long!) things we have that make news instant by the micro-second. The ship had radio but television was delayed by days or even weeks. You didn't get to watch the Super Bowl until a month later and by then so what? Oh I forget, back in 1967 you didn't have a girl from Hollywood losing her tit cover in a big time extravaganza of television porn. Back then in 1967, the Super Bowl was actually a real game with real people.

" _ **In Ban Me Thout South Vietnam, A battalion of South Korean soldiers engaged in a fierce day long battle with Viet Cong gorillas for control of this vital town five miles East of the Hoe Che Minh trail just 60 miles North of Saigon. Backed up by air strikes from United States aircraft from Tan Su Naught airbase and B-52 bombers from Guam. The South Koreans routed a numerically stronger Viet Cong force with 65 confirmed South Korean casualties..."**_

Yeah...Vietnam was not an American only war. It actually had a sanction by the United Nations and drew in troops from Australia, Thailand, South Korea, Pakistan, India, Thailand, The Philippines, Singapore, Britain...all because of Communism. At least early on in the war. Most of these nations began to leave once Lyndon Johnson left office but the South Koreans and Philippinos stayed in the fight to the very end. Some of the last combat flights as the South fell in 1975 were flown by South Korean pilots. The remainder of 1967 in Vietnam looked to be intense, at least in the South. The next news report came as no shock to anyone, it had been whispered about for a month...

" _ **In Washington, President Johnson ordered another period of limited action by American air power over North Vietnam as a gesture to compel the Communist leadership of Hanoi to come to the negotiations table to pursue an end to the hostilities and ensure the continued survival of the Saigon leadership."**_

"What's the definition of insanity again?" Darcy said waving a hand.

"Insanity...Lyndon, LBJ, Texan, President Johnson, LBJ the cattle fucker, The New Frontier." The people of North Vietnam thank Lyndon Bynes Johnson for the vacation from war. Fucken moron." Andy Hoover snorted. "There going to pause, re-stock their SAM's and then ring the fight bell. I mean...how many damn times can you pause the war expecting North Vietnam to suddenly play nice? They're laughing at us!"

"I think they are right now just as amazed as we are sitting here." Darcy said as he nibbled on a chip. "I mean nothing like this has ever happened in war, we didn't do this crap with the North Koreans and the Chinese in Korea did we? Stopped the offensive cold turkey to try and reason with our opponents? People like the Vietnamese who've been fighting for centuries must be beside themselves with confusion. You know that Bob McNamara says "we're speaking language with our bombs" right?"

Dad cocked his head. "What kind of silly bull shit is that?"

"That's what Bob said about the Cuban Missile Crisis. Our blockade was a new form of language. At least that's what you get from a sack of Ivy League college morons." Darcy snickered.

"Hey! I come from a long linage of Yale graduates there Darcy." Andy Hoover snapped.

"Keep in mind there Yale? You're addressing a superior officer. As for Yale? Now there's the reason for your latent homosexuality."

Hoover threw his cup of popcorn into the air and bounded over Dad's chair. "Oh fuck you and your rank you UCLA prick!"

"Shit!" Dad yelped as Darcy and Andy Hoover went at it...in his lap! "Damn it you idiots! Let me out of this!"

"WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON OUT HERE?!" Came the booming voice of the Skipper as he stormed from his office. "Mister Hoover! Mister Benton! What the hell?"

"I'm not part of this Skipper, I swear!" Dad exclaimed as he struggled to get free of the twisted ball of the two combatants...

"We were just...discussing the pros and cons of President Johnson's latest proposal Sir." Darcy said smiling. He made the grave mistake off pulling away enough to give Andy Hoover a good shot at his nuts with a flight boot!

"WHAM!" Hoover went for the uprights and sent Darcy sprawling to the floor!

"Lieutenant Hoover!" The skipper shouted.

"He insulted me and my family because of our Yale legacy Sir!" Hoover snorted.

The Skipper smirked. "I see..." He then took off his collar divices and gave Hoover a snicker. "Well for your information Mister Hoover? Yale is the producer of good quality transvestites and if you care to prove me wrong? You may show if you have balls to this Standford Legacy linebacker...bring it you little Yale sucking hump monkey."

Dad wisely walked out of the ready room as a coffee cup sailed by his head and smashed against the steel wall of the passaageway. Later that night, he met the Skipper... hobbling...in a passageway in officer's country...

"So did you supress Lieutenant Hoover Sir for the good of democracy?" Dad asked.

"What college did you go to Sterling?" The Skipper asked as he winced. Obviously he didn't do as well as intended against Hoover.

"Old Miss Sir." Dad replied.

"Old Miss? Sheesh the only things Ol' Miss produces is panty stealers and voyeurs. But right now I am in no mood nor condition to correct you on your gross mistake. Good night Mister Sterling." the skipper hobbled a few feet before Dad questioned him...

"Then I guess you had a set back or two with Lieutenant Hoover Sir?" Dad asked.

"Fuck you, you Ol Miss pervert. How the hell did they let sex offenders in my Navy any ways? Dismissed Mister Sterling."

"Good night Sir. Pleasant dreams." Dad said.

Kiss my ass." The Skipper replied. It wasn't always proper decorum and cleanliness aboard an aircraft carrier.:"


	3. Chapter 3

The Fighting Augies

My Dad in the Vietnam War

By Maximillian Sterling

 **Chapter three**

August 30, 1967

USS Columbia

1 day from in-chop on Dixie Station

VA-6 Ready Room

In-Chop briefing

noon

Dad and Andy signed for a pair of small steel boxes with pad locks on them with Danny Elsberry the ready room clerk and took their seats. The boxes contained an M1911 45 caliber pistol, one of the two issued weapons given to combat pilots who flew over Vietnam. The other was a 38 snub nose Magnum which most pilots kept locked in their room because they felt it just wasn't enough protection.

Some pilots got creative with the confines of their cockpits. Some had sawed off shotguns, one guy even had a World War II British Sten gun. Some pilots took hunting knives, hand grenades, brass knuckles. Looking at pictures of pilots in Vietnam, they looked as if they belonged with a gang of Mexican Bandits and not professional aviators.

The Skipper stood at his podium waving a hand..."Ok gentlemen, we don't want to waste the rest of the day. Some of you should get as much rest as you can because tomorrow morning we're going to be busy. We will be joining USS Midway in the Dixie box at 3am with the first launch scheduled for 6am. From there it's all sweat and stroke.

I want every man to write home tonight. Explain to the folks at home that we've arrived on station. Re-assure them that you will be alright, do your best to put them at ease. I must also impart to you the other letter you need to draft...time honored tradition of all fighting men...the letter you don't ever want delivered, the last letter. Think about getting one done soon. I'll be damned to hell though if I even think of losing any of my men so...don't make it easy for the reaper please?

That being said...where to begin? What's our tasking for the next sixty days in Dixieland?"

Commander Shaffell pulled down a map of South Vietnam...

"The blue box is Midway's responsibility. Ours is the red box from Tay Ninh in the west to Saigon and Vung Tau in the South. Cam Rah Bay on the East and Ban Thou in the North. We will provide air support to the ground forces operating in this box along with our own Air Force and that of the South Vietnamese. We will be doing both sea and land intradiction missions over the Mekong Delta and the Ho Che Minh trail that runs through Ban Thou to An Loc. There are major operations planned between the ARVAN (Army of South Vietnam) The Republic of Korea Marines (aka The Rhakasans or ROCK Marines) and the Army and Marine Corps for the first part of September. The ROK Marines already got their start early with Operation Mighty Tiger in the Ban Thou region. ROK Marine Major Han Lee Jin is our GCFO (Ground Combat Flight Officer) point of contact for air support. The man is good at his job, the NVA hate his fucken guts. If you get his call for support, don;t waste time getting there."

"You can expect light to some medium caliber "triple A" in this region but it's mostly low crew served weapons. Don't kid yourselves; the NVA are as good with their machine guns as their SAMs and they are excellent in fire discipline so it will be very hard to suck them into a shot that would give them away under the canopy. Keep in mind that you only need a few steel rounds sucked into an intake to ruin an engine so keep your time low over the deck as short as you can. The NVA and Cong have tried shifting their operations, movements and assaults to night time but the A-6's of the Arabs off the Midway have been giving them hell. We're going to start our in-chop with daytime flights for about a week just so you all get acclimated to the region. After that? Our time will be where it should be... at night and in poor weather. CTF (Commander Task Force) 77 has kept the Intruders flights in bad weather very sparse for a reason. That advantage will come in handy should the NVA decide to do something all out against the South and most likely they will use the weather to their advantage since most of our jets suck at poor weather attack."

Saffell stopped talking and looked around the room. "That's it for the in chop briefing. First operations flight briefing will be at 6am tomorrow morning. Welcome to Indian Country gentlemen and please do not forget to strip and check those "Red Riders" you all just checked out. You definitely do not want to go into a fight without a working pistol."

Dad and Andy walked out of the room with LCDR Robert Dybdhaul, LT Tony Gurrero, LT Jim Riggert and LTJG Marty Millar to go to the officer's mess room before heading back to their staterooms...

"I'm not going to be able to sleep." Marty Millar said.

"Hmph...my B/N saying he won't sleep yet watch this guy when we pull tanker duty." Riggert said. "You need a fire under his ass to keep him awake."

"The South is really nothing difficult." Bob said. "I haven't been up North yet and I've done two combat tours before this with A-4's."

"How do you manage to pull time here without going North?" Dad asked John.

"You send in a request to det to Da Nang to support the Marines. With them you do a ton of "Milk run" missions with no real danger and wrack up the pay stubs. That's how I bout the wife her new car. But forget putting in a request now since the Marines will start getting land based Intruders this summer with VMA-242 out of Yuma."

"So aren't you due to rotate soon Bob?" Dad asked as the group entered the officer's mess.

"Not till we're back home." Dybdhaul replied. "I put in my dream sheet next week. So far? Maintenance Officer spot or Intruder program head in D.C. because the cockpit is getting old and I'm not 23 and full of cum like I used to be."

Marty snickered. "Gee...that was nicely descripted."

"Don't laugh." Rob huffed. "I've tried for another kid to add to my collection but I think I'm blowing dust bunnies."

The men laughed as they got their food from the chow line and sat at a table...

"So with the jungle canopy here being so thick as it is?" Andy asked Bob Dybdhaul. " Any tips on approaches and deliveries?"

Bob replied. "Your best bet is Rockeye cluster bombs. Plot a set of three at 140 milliseconds time release except for around the Cu Chi plain Northwest of Saigon. Rockeyes are pointless. The Cong and the NVA have turned Cu Chi into "prairie dog ville". They learned how to tunnel from the Japanese and they're good at it too. Over Cu Chi you come in at a 50 degree dive angle with Mark 82's or Mark 83's. Release at 8000 feet. Have the ordies time delay a rack of six before you go so the bombs explode after they depress into the dirt otherwise? You won't touch those guys."

Andy pulled out his green note book and joted a page full of notes.

Jim Riggertt took a swig of his coffee..."8,000 feet the standard release height?"

"For slicks yeah. For snakes it's around 5,000 at full throttle. Don't go below 5,000 feet unless you know the grunts have the target supressed. The Cong and NVA do have medium caliber cannons and they're damn good shooters. I've had my radar blown to shit three times by rounds ripping through my nose. They don't try to shoot you down but if they can da

mage your plane so its' taken out of circulation? That's a win for them by a mile."

Dad stood up and excused himself as he finished his dinner. "I'm going to my room to retire. Andy? What time do you want me to get you for tomorrow morning?"

"4am." Andy replied. "I want to get the pastry and coffee while they're fresh. Must have the traditional breakfast before war."

Suddenly...an ensign, obviously quite young, walked up wringing his hands in a sign of worry..."Excuse me Sirs? Did any of you happen to see a stuffed Eagle sitting in here?"

Dad look at everyone else. "Nope...sorry Ensign Keller."

"Fuck." The man said as he nerviously walked off.

"What's his problem?" Dad asked Bob.

"Don't tell me you've been in this man's navy for so long and you don't know? Shame on you Kevin. Are you a fucken wog too." Bob replied.

"I have your wog." Dad replied as he checked his package. "What's his problem?"

"Sigh...that is obviously the ship's bull ensign." Bob snickered. "A ship's Bull ensign is given the very important task of taking care of the ship's bull mascott...sed stuffed animal. Woe be it to the ensign who allows bull mascott to wander away. All kinds of things could happen to the unfortunate stuffy...sexual violation? Debauchery? Unauthorized leave from his duty station? Wracking up bar fines and prostitutes in Subic? Getting pictures taken in Moscow, Havana or...Ho Che Minh's house in Hanoi."

To prove his point. John walked over to a book rack, pulled out a Naval Proceedings magazine and flashed a picture before the assembled officers. It was a stuffed tiger with a USS Oriskany ball cap being firmly snuggled by one of Ho Che Minh's granddaughters.

"Holy shit." Andy snorted. "How did that happen?"

"Ensign Dwight Ford of the Oriskany off Tiger Island North Vietnam. Lucky bastard slipped off the deck and into the drink and refused to let go of the mascott. He got picked up by a North Vietnamese gunboat and the crew couldn't understand why a grown man would hold on so tightly to a stuffed animal. They got the Tiger. They turned Dwight over to the International Red Cross because they considered him too mentally unstable to be a useful POW."

Everyone laughed then broke up for their staterooms. The stuffed animal tradition still holds though. We give it to the youngest officer in the command which they promptly lose it and end up paying a hefty paycheck fine to a favorite charity.

August 30, 1967

USS Columbia

7pm

8 hours from in-chop to Dixie Station.

Dear Cin,

We're here now off South Vietnam and begin flight operations and patrols in the morning. You and Keith are in my thoughts every moment and I'll be taking my picture up with me when I start flying. I don't want you too worry. Between Andy and the guys who've been here before, I'm getting a good education for what's coming up. We won't be flying missions over North Vietnam for a few weeks at the least depending on how the people in Washington handle negotiations. I will be careful and avoid doing anything risky unless the situation calls for it and it would have to be a very dire situation which trust me...I'm not going to be looking for it and anyway... Andy would kill me.

Keith? I hope you're being the man I asked you to be and are minding your mother and behaving yourself. I promise I'll bring something nice back for you after I'm done with the work out here. The first thing you and I will do is go to Dairy Queen and get sick with ice cream.

It will be over soon and I'll be on my way home in no time. Love you both.

"Daddy"

Dad put the letter in the envelope then sat quietly with his thoughts until John Mackee tapped his metal bunk frame...

"Hey? You better get some sleep. Trust me, this is just a normal "Milk Run" mission tomorrow but you need to be bright and bushy so you and Andy don't have "marital issues".

"Hard when my brains running like crazy." Dad replied. "Been stoking up for this all my life you know? It's part of the blood. My Grandfather talked about his cherry mission, he got only 30 minutes of snooze time."

John swung himself around till his feet dangled off the upper bunk. "Well at least try to get some sleep because you're one of my two wing man and I'll be damned if I have to put up with your groggy complaining ass on my radio for two hours over the beach. And don't get any ideas using "No-Doze" pep pills? They leave you worse off than before."

A knock at the door got Dad turning and there stood Andy Mescado...

"I can't sleep." Andy said.

John huffed..."Oh what the fuck is this? Summer camp? B/N's are not supposed to have stress...get in here?"

Andy closed the door as John hopped from his rack and went to his locker. "Now you're both going to shut up about this. I have just the remedy for your insomnia."

John pulled out a bottle of clear liquid and a set of shot glasses. "Drink this."

Dad took a glass and cocked his head. "What's this?"

"What do you think it is?" John replied.

Andy gave his a sniff. "This can't be moonshine."

"I said...who the fuck cares? Drink it both of you."

Dad put his down..."We're too close to mission briefing."

John got right in his face. "Mister Sterling? If you don't drink that glass, I will call the boys from the Line Shack to come in here and feed you that fucken glass up the black hole of space and trust me...It won't be an oddessy...you dig?"

Dad took the shot and cringed..."Ugh!...Gnah!...That was aweful."

"Yup...which means it will work." John said as he climbed back into his rack. "Mister Mescado? I think you need to get to your stateroom before you're making love to my deck."

August 31, 1967

USS Columbia

5am

Flight briefing for the first launch of the day

Dad stumbled through the door of the ready room with his flight gear in hand and stopped to hold his brain from shooting out of his skull...

Behind him...Andy was no better. "Ugh...I think I got food poisoning boss."

John Mackee walked in with a big grin of self-pleasure on his face..."Good morning gentlemen..."

"Fuck you." Dad replied.

"Bite me with respect Lieutenant Commander" Andy snarled.

"It will pass quickly once you start huffing fresh Oh Two (Oxygen) but at least you both slept well. Trust me, you'll be thankful when we're airborne.

Dad and Andy were going with John and Andy Hoover on a "three ship" CAS (Close Air Support) mission over South Vietnam. John and his B/N Ensign Ken Whitaker were the lead. They took their seats as Marvin Long, the Squadron Operations Officer, started his briefing...

Ram Flight Alpha 01

Launch : 0700

Recovery : 1030

LT John Mackie / ENS Ken Whitaker 505

LT Kevin Sterling / LTJG Andrew Mescado 503

LT Andy Hoover / LTJG Rodney Haldi 508

"Good morning gentlemen, welcome to Vietnam. We are currently steaming with USS Midway in Dixie Station, the weather reports are in the papers you've been given. You are a three ship flight assigned Combat Ground Support between Ci Chi and Tai Nin North and Northeast of Saigon. You will be supporting a battalion of ARVAN (South Vietnamese Army) backed up by a battalion of the 9th Marines who are conducting search and sweep operations through four villages and the Cho Cho river valley. It is believed the Viet Cong have several supply cashes along that stretch of the Cho Cho."

Marvin stopped to look at Dad. "Mister Sterling? Didn't you get enough sleep?"

Dad waved his hand..."Nah...Lieutenant Commander Mackee snores like a train Sir but I'll be alright."

"It's typical newbie jitters Marvin." John replied. "I tried to help the Lieutenant to ease his stomach...obviously a troublesome thing. Continue..."

Marvin turned back to his map. "The topography is depressed down to 25 feet BSL (Below Sea Level) up to 150 feet ABL (Above Sea Level) Each Intruder will be armed with Mark 82, 500 pound slicks and Mark 20 Rockeyes. If you require a fuse change on any bombs? You better call it out now because they are loading right now."

Dad raised his hand and asked for a radio which Dan Elsberry quickly handed him. "I've set the switch for Chief Boyer Sir."

"Thanks Dan." Dad replied. "Chief Boyer? Lieutenant Sterling, 503 you copy?"

"Chief Boyer Sir." The ordinance chief replied.

"Chief? I'd like to have one rack of Mark 82's fused with sub-surface contact pressure fuses if you may?" Dad then stopped to look at Marvin. "What's the topgraphy of the Cu Chi region? Soil composition?"

Marvin replied. "Expect it to be marsh and sand for the most part in the river region. Soft clay in the forest and jungle growth."

Dad nodded and clicked the radio. "Chief? Mix bag the fuses? Plot em between one and two foot delay."

"Aye Aye Sir!" The Chief smartly replied.

"Nice Sterling." Marvin said nodding. "Thinking ahead. Someone told you about the tunnels huh?"

"My grandfather suspected all the gophers around the house to be communists. He made his own exlosives. Blew up the tool shed one time, launched it into space."

Marvin chuckled back..."Alright...so upon launch and rendevous, you will proceed to handover under Air Force ops in Saigon. Over the beach proceed to the holding point above Cu Chi at 20,000 feet. You will have two flights of three skyhaks at 15,000 and a BARCAP (Barrier Combat Air Patrol) of F-4's at 25,000 feet. Leave the aggressive dive bombing and straffing to the Scooters (A-4 Skyhawks) if called by the ground controller or the Air Force spotting loach plane, you will conduct level attack between 7,400 and 7,500 feet. The opposition may have some medium caliber cannons, twenty Mils, but mostly small arms so stay above 5000 feet on approach and departure of the target."

The Air Force spotter plane is "Nancy One", the Vietnamese ground ASO is unclear, they change constantly...because the NVA and the Viet Cong seem very good at taking out the radio and the men attached to it. Marine ASO is Captain Mullans "Moose One"

"Be advised concerning the ARVN controllers and aware of your ground layout. We are to avoid "fragging" villages if at all possible and the ARVN seem to have no problem "rocking" your average village. If the ARVN call brings a potential to drop on a village without a clear and unavoidable threat? Do not follow their call."

"Divert fields is Da Nang the primary and Tan Sun Naught the secondary. That's all. Have a nice first day in country and listen to everything Mister Mackee tells you."

Dad and Andy got to their feet just as John came walking up with two cups of steaming hot something in his hands...

"Oh no..." Andy snorted. "You fucked me once already."

John smirked as he held out the cups. "Trust me...this will clear you guys up quickly. Ginsing tea is always a good cure for a slight hang over."

Dad pursed his lips. "You're a fucken witch doctor."

"But you're going to love flying with me, trust me." John replied as he blinked an eye and made a pistol with his hand.

August 31, 1967

USS Columbia

7am

Flight Quarters, first launch of the day.

Dad and Andy sat in 503 setting things up after checking the plane out with the plane captain. The A-6 had six 500 pound bombs on the belly rack, Two fuel tanks on the inboard stations and six cluster bombs on the outboard wing stations. The Rockeyes were called APAM (Anti-personel / Anti-Mechanized) Munitions. Each white bomb had peanut like shells held together with spring bands that were set to break apart at a certain altitude and bomb the ground with softball sized bombs that turned everything around them into hamburger... that's everything which is quite a messy casorole.

By now...Dad was feeling better after he'd huffed some pure oxygen and shaken off the stupor from the poison John fed him the night before. Andy still looked a little pale... stopping briefly from setting up his side of the cockpit to almost puke off the side of the canopy rail...

"You...gonna make it Andy?" Dad asked.

"I'll manage. I'm worried of not thinking strait." Andy replied. "I think I'll be over it by the time we're up and level."

Dad ran through his radio check..."Number one? (John Mackee) you up?"

"Affirmative." John replied.

"Ram Three up?" Dad asked Andy Hoover.

"Loud and clear." Andy Hoover replied.

Dad went through the starting procedures, closed the canopy and soon the Intruder was screaming down the bow and climbing into the air with the Columbia behind and the Midway turning into the wind on the right to launch her first planes of the day. They were less than twenty miles off the coast of South Vietnam so the flight to the holding point above the Cu Chi region was about 5 minutes. Once there the three Intruders would have sufficient fuel to stay in their holding patten a good four hours yet the mission was cushioned to ensure they had fuel to get somewhere in case some lucky shooter on the ground punched out fuel tanks.

August 31, 1967

Ram Flight 01

7:45am

15,000 feet and 20 miles from Cu Chi

The three Intruders joined up wing tip to wing tip with John Mackee taking the lead and Dad and Andy Hoover on each side.

John called over the radio. "Stores check. Two?"

Dad replied. " twelve Rockeyes and Six slick 500 pound 32's with delay subsurface impact fuses.

Andy Hoover replied. "Eighteen slick 500 pound 32's with standard fuses."

John replied. "And I'm carrying six slick 82's with sub-surface fuses. Six Rockeyes and six 82's with standard fuses. Here's the short list...Hoover, you're close contact support for the grounders since you have all the 82's with standard fuses. Myself and 503 will handle bunkers and flankers who try to sneek around our grunts. Hoover, you drop em by twos and threes to make yourself last out. Hold one rack of six back in case things get hot and heavy for the grunts. Things work here pretty simple; I handle all the coms between us three and the Air Force Loach and Saigon. Keep the chatter down when we get overhead and keep ears open for what I tell you. You both understand?"

"Affirm." Andy Hoover replied.

"Set." Dad replied.

"Alright." John said. "Since we're all nice and tucked in with our popcorn? Let's start the movie..." John flipped his radio over. "Saigon Center, Saigon Center...Ram One calling in feet dry for CAS. Request channel for Air Force OSP (Overhead Spotter Plane) "Nancy One" over?"

"Ram One, Saigon Center. Squalk (call) Nancy One on "Two, two, Oh over" Saigon Center replied.

John flipped his radio switches..."Nancy One, Nancy One...Ram One calling inbound to holding at 20k, TOT (Time on Top) 5 Mike (5 Minutes) state conditions over?"

"Ram One, Nancy One...good morning over Cu Chi. Conditions clear. Ground units are making slow progress to the Northeast. Currently 300 yards South of Phoc Hoi (Pock Hoy) village spread wide at 50 yards. No funny business as of yet over."

John replied. "Nancy One...Ram One No funny business is a good thing. Who else is holding?"

"Ram One, Nancy One...currently awaiting arrival of scooters. Phantoms on top at 25K." The loach replied.

Dad looked over at Andy as he scribbled information on his map that was affixed to the kneeboard that was fastened around leg. "You working those math problems?" Dad asked.

"Just coming up with potentials ahead of time boss. Don't break my concentration ok?" Andy replied.

"Oh?...So you're finally out of the stupor?" Dad replied smirking.

"Shut up and drive?" Andy snorted back. "I don't feel like ejecting because you rear ended El-Cad-ar's plane."

August 31, 1967

2nd Company, 2nd Battalion, 9th US Marines

7:47am

Phoc Hoi Village

2nd Company Commander, Marine Lieutenant Ardel Jones, stood with a Vietnamese translator as they met with the three eldest men of Phoc Hoi Village which was about 30 miles East of Tay Ninh. The 2/2/9 Marines were "Saddled" with a Marine company to their West with each company towing two Republic of Vietnam army companies on their sides. Jones was looking at his map and asking his interpreter...

"Ask them about Cong activity. Do they know anything?" Jones said. His smaller companion conversed in Vietnamese then turned back to Jones...

"He says "blink blink" there are no Cong here. "Blink, blink, blink" The old elder said no for a good reason. Yes the Cong were here and yes they could be really close. Jones called for his radioman and took the "hook" (phone) from him...

"Scabby? Jones." Ardel was calling the commander of the other Marine Company. "Scabby? Comply?"

"Scabby here. What up Ardel?" Lieutenant Scott "Scabby" Nichols replied.

"The village elders tell us there is no Vietcong activity in this local. He does have a smoking hot daughter though." Jones said.

"Smoking hot daughter" was of course the code for..."They are among us."

"In that case..." Scabby replied. "Maybe we should take up an invitation?" meaning everyone was going hot weapon wise. Vietnam was a war where uniforms were not exactly the "in fashion" thing among the Communists. You didn't know who was telling the truth but in this case the elders of the village were loyal enough to chance ratting out the local Vietcong (The "VC" for short) the way they did it meant that there were Cong intertwined with the villagers which made this situation a potential nightmare.

August 31, 1967

Nancy One

7:49am

Air Force spotting loach plane over Phoc Hoi

"Nancy to Kentuky Derby, Nancy to Kentucky Derby (Kentucky Derby meaning all the ground support planes coasting high over Phoc Hoi) Grunts in Phoc Hoi report a smoking hot daughter. For the newbies that means possible strong contact with VC in and around the village. Stand by..."

August 31, 1967

7:50 am

John Mackee "Ram flight one" leader.

"You heard that? Keep your ears open and the coffee chat down. If the shit starts, they will send in the Scooters first. See if we can suck out a large force to maul." John said to the other two pilots.

August 31, 1967

7:51 am

Dad and Andy in Ram 503

"Rodger" Dad replied as he flipped the auto-pilot switch to "on" and pulled a map from his flight suit pants pouch...

Dad pulled out a marker and scribbled over the portion of the map where Phoc Hoi village was...

"What do you think Andy? Those clumps of jungle growth and that destroyed village to the North?" Dad asked Andy and clicked his radio. "Hey John?"

"What's up?" John Mackee asked.

"I think we should watch the jungle line to the Northwest of the village about 100 yards off...the one due North at 70 yards off and the one to the Northwest and West about 80 yards off. There's also that destroyed village of Xom Boi (Am Boy) 200 yard to the North." Dad said as he looked down on his side of the cockpit at the ground with Andy leaning over...

"I'm thinking the one's due north Boss. The one to the West is surrounded by rice patties. Way to easy to get chewed up if they try to cross that." Andy said.

Dad pursed his lips. "Set up a pair of Rockeyes...just in case shit starts to happen."

"Yup..." Andy replied as he sat back in his seat and began to select the cluster bombs. "Two in the bull pen boss."

Dad took a deep breath and looked at the map again before putting it into his pocket. "You working on solutions already?" He asked Andy.

"Need you even think?" Andy replied.

August 31, 1967

2nd Company, 2nd Battalion, 9th US Marines

7:56 am

Phoc Hoi Village

Ardel Jones passed the word along the line of four companies that ran left, center and right of the village then turned to his interpreter..."Let's pull back a little, make it look like we have no interest here, see what they'll do."

To the left of Phoc Hoi, Marine Sargent Major Zack Kerry was putting his boot to the ass of a few inatentive vietnamese. "Do you want to get your fool heads blown off? Get low and pull back!...Sook Yaw Ban Loy!" He yelped in crude Vietnamese as a Marine crouched by him...

"Gee Smash...you'll be running an Asian meat market in no time huh?" The young Marine hadn't finished speaking before a crack snapped through the air and his head exploded in a red mist!"

"OH FUCK! DOWN! DOWN! DOWN! TAY YONG! TAY YONG!"

August 31, 1967

2nd Company, 2nd Battalion, 9th US Marines

7:58 am

Phoc Hoi Village

Ardel kissed the dirt along with the rest of his company as another crack went through the air and a Marine spun behind a hut as a bullet tore through one of the support posts! "SIR! SNIPER!"

"Do you see him Corperal?!" Ardel asked the man as he recovered into a crouch.

"No Sir but he's fricken close though...bet about 70 yards!" The Marine replied as Ardel turned for his radioman...

"Nancy...Nancy this is Kennel Two (Kennel Two call sign for the 9th Marines) we've taken fire from a sniper to our front. Due north of the village. One man down. Target location not known. You will be advised. Expect more coming so be ready."

"Kennel Two, Nancy copy." The Air Force Loach replied. "Kentucky Derby this is Nancy. Grunts are taking fire from a sniper. Colts stand by (Colts-A-4 Skyhawks) Morgans hold (Morgans, A-6 Intruders)

August 31, 1967

7:59 am

Dad and Andy in Ram 503

"John? I smell a sucker punch coming. My guess it will be from the jungle patch due North. Closest sprint point to the Village do you copy?" Dad said as he banked tight so he could see more of the village and the ground.

"Wow Sterling...you've haven't been in country five minutes and you're acting like a General?" John replied.

"I read a lot of books. Most my intel comes from National Geographic." Dad replied. "Call it a hunch if they're right about the Vietcong's behavior."

"Told you Kevin studied Freud." Andy snickered at Dad. "He says I have a split personality."

August 31, 1967

2nd Company, 2nd Battalion, 9th US Marines

7:59 am

Phoc Hoi Village

The young marine Corperal broke into a sprint and a bullet cracked by his head as he slid across the gap between huts and almost crashed into Ardel..."Holy shit you dumb ass! Are you trying to get killed?"

The Corperal recovered. "Just trying to sucker that prick out of the grass Sir! I got a good idea where he's at too. About 75 years...5 or so degrees to the left of my finger."

Ardel shook his head. "Can't afford to drop on one guy."

Suddenly the sounds of clanging metal coud be heard and the first barrage of mortar shells slammed into the village!

"Can we afford it now?!" The Corperal yelped.

August 31, 1967

Nancy One

8:00 am

Air Force spotting loach plane over Phoc Hoi

"Nancy One! Kennel Two...we are taking mortar fire on our posititons! Grid Two, Three. Center and Low...I say again...Grid Two, Three...Center and Low! Request mark and strike!" Ardel's voice cracked over the radio.

"Rodger Kennel Two...Nancy coming down to mark with Green smoke rockets, strike to follow on." The Loach pilot replied. "Kentucky Derby...Nancy inbound to mark a target. Colts watch for the mark in green and follow through."

The Loach radio cracked in reply..."Rodger Nancy One...Dragon Leader (A-4 fligth leader) inbound to your smoke with two ships with 250 pounds and Nape (Nape = Napalm or jelly gas bombs)

August 31, 1967

8:05 am

Dad and Andy in Ram 503

Dad and Andy watched as the loach plane launched a pair of smoke rockets into the patch of jungle north of the Village followed quickly by three A-4 Skyhawks making bombing and straffing runs with high explosives and napalm.

"If these guys are smart? They broke their tubes (tubes=Mortars) down and ran like hell." Dad said. "All their doing is sucking out our ordinance." Dad said to Andy.

"Wow..." Andy replied. "National Geographic being accurate, amazing."

August 31, 1967

2nd Company, 2nd Battalion, 9th US Marines

8:08 am

Phoc Hoi Village

The radioman patted Ardel's shoulder as the airstrike slammed into the jungle cover north of the Village..."Sir! 3/3/9 skipper (2nd Company, 2nd Battalion, 9th US Marines commanding officer) reporting heaviler stuff coming down among the ARVN 2/3/5 and his company!" The radio man paused to listen to the words coming through his headphones...

"Grid three, one...Center and high from the Jungle cover!"

August 31, 1967

Nancy One

8:10 am

Air Force spotting loach plane over Phoc Hoi

"Rodger Kennel Two...Ram One...I have a heavy for you. I will be shooting smoke orange at Grid three, one...Center and high and follow on...copy?"

August 31, 1967

8:05 am

Dad and Andy in Ram 503

Ram three, Ram one. You are out of the bull pen. Nancy is popping Orange smoke, identify and execute over?"

"Affirm execute." Dad said calmly as he banked his intruder down and out of the holding pattern on a long arc that would give him a good strait line to the target. "Nancy, Ram Three I have your smoke. Turning on the I.P. (Initial run-in point) and stepping into attack. Ram Three is in hot!"

Andy worked over the computer sitting between his legs, rapidly entering the altitude, speed and drift factors to set up the Intruder's automatic release system. "Set! Going into bombs, two Rockeyes up and your pickle is hot!"

"Good tone." Dad replied as he could hear the steady audible tone that told him the Intruder was flying true to the attack point. Once the tone "broke" or stopped, Dad would drop two Rockeye cluster bombs on the worked out target strike point the DIANE system had computed. For a plane that had even less computing power than an Apollo space capsule, the Intruder was deadly accuate when the whole DIANE system worked perfectly; which in Vietnam was a treasured rarity. 503's computer system was working great this time out.

Streaks of yellow flashed by the nose of the Intruder which told Dad the force oppsing the Marines was a good size and well equipped, yet his eyes remained fixed firmly on the VDI (Visual Display Instrument) on his side of the cockpit as a white ball at the bottom of the screen begane to climb upwards to meet the stearing box in the center of the screen. When they met, the tone would break and the Rockeyes would be on their way.

"Seven Five Zero (7500) and steady!" Dad said into the ICS. "Steady...steady... HACK!"

As Dad mashed the red button on his control stick (the "pickle" switch) an electrical signal flowed into the rack holding the six Rockeye bombs, initiated a firing sear pin, which struck the back of a ten millimeter explosive cartridge, which fired the shell, which unlocked the bomb from the rack and forced a plunger against the bomb's shell, which threw the Rockeyes from the rack in a staggered release so they would spread a wider pattern of destruction."

Banking hard right and up, Dad and Andy watched as the cluster bombs broke apart about 500 feet above the impact point and their deadly cargo of softball sized bomblets spread out in a wide oblong cover pattern, their explosions marked by visably distrubed jungle growth, shreaded folliage and several secondary explosions which meant the bomblets had set off ammunition on the ground!

"Nancy One, Ram Three has secondary explosions!" Dad said to the Air Force loach.

"Confirm on that Ram Two." Nancy Two replied.

August 31, 1967

2nd Company, 2nd Battalion, 9th US Marines

8:12 am

Phoc Hoi Village

"Scabby here. What up Ardel?" Lieutenant Scott "Scabby" Nichols on Ardel Jone's left flank replied to the radio call as Jones heard the cluster bombs exploding.

"Scab?" We'll fix the right flank here if you and the ARVN demonstrate forward a few yards. Let's see if we can sucker the Cong into an attack." Ardel grabbed the Corperal. "Find Sargent Major Lovine and tell him to spread the word between us and the Vietnamese on our end of the line...dig in along the ville and hold positions, the left flank is going to move forwards. Expect an attack."

"Got it!" The Corperal replied. He then peaked around the corner of the hut they were hiding behind and bolted across the clear space to another hut..."That sniper might be a little spooked Sir!"

"Might be that your skinny Kentucky ass doesn't appeal to him!" Ardel replied.

August 31, 1967

8:16 am

Dad and Andy in Ram 503

"Nice delivery Sterling." John Mackee called by radio. "Heads up, the grunts are going to go forwards on their left flank and see if the Cong want to play football. I doubt it."

Dad leveled his plane back to cruising altitude and checked his fuel gauge..."We have about 90 minutes of fuel before we have to return to the boat. That's around oh...Oh Nine Four Five am (0945 am) departure time."

"90 minutes should be enough to see if they want to press their luck. My guess is they retreated and went underground." John said as his Intruder slide up on Dad's right wing.

Andy meanwhile was looking at his map again...

"Boss? They could attack the South Vietnamese unit? Snipe em or a mortar rush." Andy said.

"That's if they want to die." Dad replied. "So long as they keep taking "little pock shots" and short bursts, there really won't be a need to call in air strikes. That is if our grunts don't get too stupid and go bat out of hell for the jungle cover."

Dad looked on the map where the village of Xom Mai once stood to the North of Phouc Hoi..."Ram lead this is three? Is anyone looking at Xom Mai right now?"

John replied. "Let me find out. Why? You got an itchy trigger finger feeling?"

"The Viet Cong don't work far from a base of supply and storage right?" Dad asked.

"That's their M.O." John said. "But they swept that village months ago and raised it."

"Raised on the ground yeah." Dad said. "But what about under it? Did they look for tunnels?"

"I'll ask and see what I find out." John replied. "For now...just keep busy and wait."

August 31, 1967

third Company, 1st Battalion, 9th US Marines

9am

left flank and moved forwards 75 yards from Phoc Hoi Village

Lieutenant Scott "Scabby" Nichols grabbed the hand set from his radioman. "We're going to stay here for now Ardel. Nothing so far.

"Watch your back in case they try a sneak around." Ardel Jones replied.

"I dunno about that." Scabby said as he scanned the land behind him. "It's wide open out here a good 150 yards around. They try to flank us out here and they'll be mulch."

August 31, 1967

9:02 am

Dad and Andy in Ram 503

John returned on the radio. "Ram Three? There is no information that deffnative on the village being searched for tunnels. What's your plan?"

Dad replied..."Well?...let me low buzz the village like I'm going to bomb it and see if the Viet Cong start shooting like crazy."

Andy gave Dad a face as if he was crazy..."You wanna fucken what?"

"Oh come on Andy? What happens when you wear a colored shirt near a hornet's nest?" Dad replied.

"Last time I remember boss? I didn't exactly go looking to get stung in my ass?" Andy snorted back.

John came back..."Let me get this right Kevin? You want to buzz Xom Mai at low level?"

"It's simple John." Dad replied. "Three things will happen. If its important to them? They'll shoot like crazy. If they don't shoot then they're smart as hell. If they don't shoot then there's nothing there. But if there is something there and we tag it? They will run like hell because the store got shut down. Simple."

Andy snorted. "Simple my ass. Sometimes Boss? You're a fucken lunatic."

"You don't fly with me to be board all day." Dad snickered. "John? Is it a deal?"

"It's against my better judgement roomie but if you think it'll work and give our ground guys an advantage then play through." John replied.

Andy reflexively snatched a Jesus handle on the canopy frame as Dad cranked the throttles and kicked the Intruder into a dive for the deck at 400 knots!

"Andy? You want to put your tongue back in your mouth and plot me an inbound?" Dad asked as he leveled out at 500 feet moving away from Xom Mai to the Northwest.

Andy quickly went through the calculations, rapidly tapped on his computer keys and point to Dad's VDI. "Turn into the IP (Initial point) in three minutes, come 180 degrees inbound at 090 and for God's sakes don't get us killed?!"

Dad watched the VDI screen as the I.P. Point marched towards the course marker and when they met he pulled on the control stick, kicked at the rudder pedals and the armed Intruder climbed and rolled into the sky, flipped onto its' back, rolled back upright and was now screaming towards Xom Bai at 513 miles per hour.

Down below in the jungle canopy and the clearing where the destroy village was, the Viet Cong could clearly see the bomber coming right down their throats! Panic or precission, they cut loose a furious flow of bullets to try and throw the plane off target!

"FUCK!" Andy snapped as tracers flew by the canopy and the sounds of a few "smacks" made their way into his ears even with all the padding in his helmet..."We've been hit! Son of a bitch this was a fucked up idea!"

Dad put the A-6 into a vertical climb and rolled it around to escape the trailing fire as he scanned his warning lights and instruments. "Doesn't look like they hit any vitals! Shit they got some heavy guns down there don't they?"

"You think Boss?!" Andy snapped back. "Fuck! 20 and 30 mills at the least!"

Dad called John Mackee. "John? Seems reaction number one was correct. I need a look over, I think I took some hits and my B/N shit himself."

Dad made it to cruising altitude where John's A-6 quickly formed up next to him and started to slowly fly a cricle around 503 to see if anything had been hit. You have to say the Intruder was a well engineered attack plane to say nothing of being tough; it had to be given how it was intended to be used. Very few of our Veritech pilots as I said before would even consider going "up and personal" in the style of attack Dad and his fellow Intruder pilots did in Vietnam. Yet the plane could get shot full of holes and still somehow make it back home. As John flew around Dad's plane he found four big hits; one through the vertical tail, one imbedded in an armor plate on the left inboard wing, another through the canopy nose and another through a flap on the right wing...

"Still flyable Kevin. But I would be careful with that hole in the flap." John said with a wave from his cockpit.

"Good." Dad replied. "Now give me permission to plaster the village with my six pentration bombs?"

Andy was shaking his head.

"At a safe altitude." Dad said as he looked at Andy. "Gonna need to drop high to get em good and deep before they explode."

John thought for a moment. "Ok then...I see where this is going. Let me call Nancy Two so we can give the grunts a heads up. If you nail it right? The rabbits are going to be coming out from all over the place in a panic."

August 31, 1967

2nd Company, 2nd Battalion, 9th US Marines

9:24am

Phoc Hoi Village

"Kennel Two this is Nancy One...Ram Three is going to execute a strike on Xom Bai village. Depending on the outcome of the hit, standby to exploit forward assault with air cover on my call over."

"Rodger Nancy One...Kennel Two complies." Ardel Jones called Scott "Scabby" Nichols on his left flank. "Scabby? They're going to slam Zom Bai village. They think if its' a good hit, the Cong will start running like hell...get ready to advance on my call over?"

"Ready and willing." Nichols replied.

August 31, 1967

9:24 am

Dad and Andy in Ram 503

Andy tapped over his computer again, threw a few switches and set the master arm button to "pickle hot"..."Course is set, inbound is set, height is set, speed is set, time is good, your pickle's hot and my pants are wet...thanks a lot you ass hole."

Dad chuckled. "Good to know I have a loving cockpit relationship going here." Slowly in a wide arcing turn...Dad brought 503 down from 18000 feet to 7500 feet and locked the auto pilot to keep the plane strait as he threw the throttles full open. They'll have a little more difficulty trying to hit us this time...I think?"

Andy frowned back..."You're accuracy at thinking as of late has sucked boss?"

"Bet you a hundred bucks we nail something?" Dad replied smirking.

"Just drive thank you." Andy replied.

Dad's Intruder screamed over the Marines and South Vietnamese at 513 knots at 7500 feet and as expected the Viet Cong threw up a barrage of fire from the jungle growth around Xom Bai as the audio tone in Dad's ears broke and he mashed the pickle button on the control stick...

"Foomp! Foomp! Foomp!..." The bombs fell away from their rack in a timed release of 140 milliseconds apart sending them down in a strait line into the ground of Xom Bai. The third bomb buried itself into the soft clay ground under a broken thatch hut...crashed into some boxes full of RPG (Rocket propelled Grenade) rounds and lit off the stores of ammunition the local Viet Cong had been trying to stock for who knows how long...

" **KAWHAM!"** The concussion of the secondary explosion from the explosion of the 500 pound bomb surprised the grunts as it did the Viet Cong gorillas in the jungle growth who now felt themselves swiftly deballed of courage as well as supplies. For Dad, the only care was to get the heck back up to altitude so he wouldn't take any more hits. The good shooting of the Viet Cong was surprising...

"Good shooting Roomie!" John called on the radio. "Damn! They must have had a ton of stores where you hit it...son of a bitch that was some secondary."

"Just a product of my execptional family gifts." Kevin replied.

"Yeah...wait till I tell "Cin Cin" how you risked our lives. She'll show your family gifts the proper respect." Andy snorted.

"You still hung up on the last run?" Kevin said smirking. "This is work not vacation."

"Well I think we can handle things with the other pilots Kevin." John said. "You get back to the boat and get those wounds patched up so you can be ready for the evening flight. Nice job rookie."

Dad waved to John then asked Andy to set the way back to the ship. "Not a bad first time for getting our combat cherries busted huh?" Dad said to Andy.

"Next time can we be a little less desiring for action?" Andy asked. "And be a little nicer to the plane Kevin? You throw it around too viently and we might go system down when we really need it."

My Dad replied. "I promise to put your delicate condition in play the next time we do something crazy...which will probably be over Hanoi if we get lucky enough."


	4. Chapter 4

The Fighting Augies

My Dad in the Vietnam War

 **By Maximillian Sterling**

 **Chapter four**

August 31, 1967

USS Columbia

503 lands back aboard after first mission.

Airman Sandy Boyard looked as if he loaned his car to a friend who'd just totally trashed it as Dad climbed down from the pilot's side after he parked...

"Holy shit." Sandy said as he walked under a wing, pulled a pair of plyers out of his pocket and wrenched the spent steel bullet out of the fiber woven armor panel that protected the aircraft's flap drive actuators...What the heck Mister Sterling?"

"Oh that?" Just migratory mineral deposits, no worries." Dad replied.

"No worries?" Sandy yelped. "Look at the nose radome sir!"

Dad walked up to the fat nose of the Intruder and stuck his hand and almost half his arm into the hole blasted through the fiberglass skin. "Wow...What do you think about that Andy?"

"Probably 30 mill, something around there. Oh yeah...no worries." Andy turned to Sandy. "See...Mister Sterling thought it a brilliant idea to do an air show low level over the Viet Cong to impress them with our stunning superiority? It...well they were not impressed."

Boyard snickered. "Airframes is gonna kill you Mister Sterling."

"I promise to make it up for them." Dad replied as he and Andy walked across the flight deck, watching the returning planes land from their first day of work, and soon they walked into the ready room where Elsberry took hold of their extra flight gear...

"Skipper said he needs to see you two as soon as you got back." Elsberry said.

"Is he angry at us?" Dad asked.

"I dunno." Elsberry replied. "Hard to tell with that ticked off look he always seems to have you know?"

Dad walked up to the edge of the Commander's office door and knocked on the bulkhead (wall)...

"Enter." Charles Saffell answered.

Dad and Andy walked into the small anti-room of the ready room. Not much of an office at all, more like a tight broom closet and most of it was taken up by "I love me" trinkets the Commanding Officer had decorated the walls with. Pictures of family, awards, trophies, a little league baseball shirt that was obviously old and a painted mural on the overhead (Cieling) of a flight of Skyraiders, the Intruder's prop driven predecesors from the Korean War.

"Sir! Lieutenant Sterling and..." Dad poped to attention and saluted.

"Cut it out Lieutenant...I don't do formalities in here." Saffell said as he pointed to the chairs before his desk and offered a box of cigars..."You guys smoke?"

Andy took one and smirked. "Cuban's Sir? How did you?"

Saffell replied. "Mafia connections and don't ask further. I'm interested to hear from you two what you hit at Xom Bai and the return fire you took. How did you come up with the idea of bombing the village?"

Dad thought he was going to be blasted. "I've been reading a lot about the war and the Viet Cong on our way here Sir. I thought it important that we know who we're dealing with. This article in Proceedings that was written by Commander Charlie Hunter (Proceedings is the U.S. Naval Institute periodical written by commissioned officers. Chuck Hunter flew the 1967 mission over Hanoi that became the subject of Steven Coontz's Flight of the Intruder novel) said that the Viet Cong don't operate far from important bases of supply. Xom Bai was a guess."

Saffell sat back in his chair. "A good guess from what I heard so far. You got lit up by some serious gun play down near the deck. Judging by what airframes desscribed you ran into 20 and 30 Mill which is not normal to "the Cong".

Andy replied. "It was a bit obvious. And almost damn accurate stuff too Sir. Might have been radar guided but the ECM gear (Electronic Counter Measures) threw it off."

"Did you see the secondaries after you popped your 82's?" Saffell asked.

Dad gestured with his hands. "We banked hard over left and caught the bombs as they hit home and "BOOM!" it looked like college football pyros down there. Rockets went flying and blew up, there were multiple detonations. They must have had a shit load of stuff packed down there."

"I need you both to sit down and scribble what you remember so we can pass it to G2 (Inteligence Division) here and in Saigon. A stash that sounds that big is a serious indication that the Cong are stocking up for an offensive at some point. Airframes says they will have your plane patched up by 1600 (4pm) for your next flight tonight. You and John Casserotti will pull surveilance over the Ho Che Minh trail coupled to an EA-3D Gram Bell that's going to be monitoring sensors and directing you to hits as needed. Get those reports done ASAP and get some chow and rest for round two. Good work both of you."

Dad and Andy snapped to attention and walked out into the ready room where they wrote their reports, stuffed them into red folders and handed them to Elsberry. "These are for G-2." Dad said as he and Andy walked out and went down to the hanger bay to look at 503 which was being "ganged over" by the green shirts from the Airframes department...

"Yo Mister Sterling...Mister Mercado..." A black petty officer named Lucis Edmonds said with a wave as he walked up. "That must have been crazy?" He said as he pointed to the hole in the nose radome.

"Meh." Andy replied. "Typical days pay. Chalked up that hazpay on this trip."

"No shit." Lucis replied as he pulled a slug from his pocket and showed it off. "Guess where this sucker ended up Mister Sterling? In the back of your VDI display box. Any more velocity and it could have punched your life ticket."

Dad still had that spent slug too. Kept it in a block of poured glass as a momento.

Andy looked over Dad's shoulder and whistled..."Wheew...Kinda guards against us doing any more crazy low level ideas doesn't it boss?"

Dad gave Andy a snicker..."You wish...we've only started."

After looking over 503 and talking with the Airframes guys for a bit, Dad went up to his stateroom, grabbed that Proceedings magazine he'd been reading and went to the officers mess for a quick hamburger and a coke where he sat reading that Chuck Hunter article seeing what else he could pull out of it, like how difficult working over the Ho Che Minh trail was going to be. Everything about the trail was gathered by sound and vibration sensors which had been "drop sewn" on the stretch between South Vietnam and Camboidia. Most Viet Cong and NVA movements happened in the dead of night and under all that foliage it was impossible to know if the sensors had been triggered by people or by animals. In one case, in response to a tripped sensor, the Air Force ordered a B-52 two ship strike believing some sort of major troop movement was underway. The expendature was 300 Mark 82 bombs and two square miles of plastered jungle. The reward? One yellow Vitenamese tiger. The Tiger, like all cats, decided to play with a sensor it had...which was still lodged in its' jaws after it was found in a tree where it landed after being "over-killed" by the B-52 strike. Rumor had it that it ended up in the trophy room of Air Force chief General Curtus Lee May.

So even a rat could trigger an angry rain of hell. Well the Vietnamese were not if anything inventive. In one instance they sent a trained donkey with a loaded Ox Cart that was sure to attract attention and when the bombs from above slammed home upon poor "Commie Nester the long earred Vietcong Donkey" The Viet Cong quickly took advantage of the bombs disturbing the ground sensors to pass through un-molested. Dad was so deep into scanning the article that he didn't notice the Sailor standing at his table. It was one of Dad's charges in the Airframes Division, Aviation Mechanic 3rd Class Mike Bratco from Wakida, Kansas...

"Sir? I was told you wanted to see me by Chief Magkasi?" The man said as he stood at attention.

"Oh? Oh yeah! I forgot, I was sort of...studying...yeah..." Dad put the magazine down and whipped out a note book..."Yeah...Chief wanted me to tell you that you've been promoted to night shift supervisor personally on my own reccomendation."

The young man looked a little un-sure..."Sir? Petty Officer Luchio has been here longer than me."

"And he gave Chief Magkasi a look the Chief didn't like...as in...the kind that sort of affects your evaluations?" Dad replied. "You on the other hand have been a go getter from the start. You're never late on qualifications, your uniform always looks good, you seem to love the work you do, you never complain and you're from Kansas but we can overlook the previous lesser qualities."

Bratco chuckled..."Sir? To be honest with you, I'm not the leader quality sort of guy."

"Which is why you have a Division Leading Petty Officer, and a Chief to go too." Dad replied. "Your biggest mistake out the gate Mister Bratco is that you try to take everything on yourself and never ask for help. Good leaders don't do things by themselves and I think when I make a choice? I would like to know I made the right one so...don't make me look like an idiot? Am I clear?"

Bratco nodded. "Yes Sir."

"Good." Dad replied. "You don't start nights until tomorrow so if I were you? I would go right to Chief Magkasi and start asking those important questions about being a supervisor. And don't leave your LPO out of the loop or he'll fricken kill you...understand?"

"Yes Sir...I'll do my best Sir!" Bratko popped to attention and left, leaving Dad to smile as he returned to reading the article for a bit before going back to his stateroom to get some rest for the night mission.

August 31, 1967

6:40pm

Ready Room Five

Dad walked in and saw Andy aready standing with Lieutenant Garrett Burgess and Lieutenant John Casserotti around a small table in the corner of the room.

"Thought you'd be here more bushy tailed than the rest of us man." John said to Dad as he patted at the table of maps...then again there's nothing difficult about this whole deal. Simple milk run, we'll be armed with eighteen 500 pounders and teathered to a slow fat whale most of the night. Where the whale points? We drop three 500 pounders on it. Simple. We drop above 7,000 feet, level attack, very little exposure to small caliber guns."

Dad tapped the map with a finger. "How about where the Whale points? We don't drop on that sight but back up a bit...say...75 yards to 100 and drop there?"

"Why do you want to do that?" John Casserotti asked.

"I was reading this article by Chuck Hunter and he says the Viet Cong and the NVA know how to trip up the sensors and use the detonations to mask their moves. I figured if we dropped up the trail, we might get lucky." Dad said.

"Might work. Then again we might miss." John replied. "It's a crap shoot and between us we have 32 bombs which is 11 strikes total. If we were to split six each pass to hit both places that's six shots. CCA (Central Command Authority) in Saigon demands we drop on the identified coordinates specified by the whale without deviation to maximize the potential of our loads between us."

Dad snorted. "Who's this CCA in Saigon?"

"A fucken whore in Pop Cherry bar on King Louis street?" Garrett replied smirking. "Shit, half the people at CCA around General Westmoreland are NVA plants."

John popped a last minute cigarette in his mouth. "The emergency and divert fields are the same. Tan Sun naught and Da Nang. The Shepherds will be providing the tankers to keep us feet dry unless we expend all our bombs under the allowed overhead time."

Dad yelped to Elsberry. "Petty Officer Elsberry? Call down to Maintenance Control and ask if I'm taking 503 or another plane will you?" He then turned to John Casserrotti. "Did you hear about our excursion this morning?"

"Yeah." John replied. "I heard the "dinks" smacked you guys good on the low level. That took guts."

"No..." Andy huffed. "It took being foolish."

"Andy can't get the aura of my genious out of his head." Dad giggled.

"Genius? Lucky for us we're still breathing." Andy snorted. "You have a round flash by your face at half a foot and see if you hold your water...smart ass."

"All of a sudden you're a caution ninny." Kevin said smirking. "He goaded me to go under deception pass bridge."

"I did not!" Andy snapped.

"Oh? "100 bucks says you have no balls." Or did you suddenly have amnesia?"

Deception Pass Bridge is a very beautiful spot in Washington State between Oak Harbor and Anacortes. The pass runs from the Pacific Ocean into the upper Cascade mountains and at this one spot it has a double truss span bridge high over the water. Absolutely gorgeous and absolutely enticing to young Naval Aviators like the A-6 pilots out of Naval Station Whidbey.

On this occasion, a night time training flight along one of the many routes the Intruders take, Andy decided to bet Dad could not thread the needle eye below the birdge; a very dangerous and obviously illegal act to perform in a civilian location...which only the most daring if not the most stupid pilots would risk their careers.

Did I tell you my Dad was a lousy Catholic?

Well...Dad absolutely blamed Andy for all of it, never mind he has the control stick. Maybe you could excuse it as some sort of "Penial envvy" but Dad came screaming down at 510 knots and "threaded the needle". Climbing steeply up and out of the pass...

And right past the observant eyes of a Washington State trooper...who once was a Navy petty officer with a damn good set of eyes. Needless to say the Commander of VA-128, the Pacific training squadron, was not very happy with Dad's stunt. He described the psychological fittness exam as "Over-reactive punishment." But Andy was still out a hundred bucks and by all evidence as of the present...he still wasn't over it.

August 31, 1967

7:30pm

503 getting ready to taxi to the catapults

"You still angry?" Dad asked Andy as he watched for the yellow shirt to give the signals to start taxiing.

"I'm not angry." Andy replied. "Just concerned about us taking chances. I don't want us to intentionally get ourselves blown out of the sky."

Dad snickered. "Yeah...would suck if you died still cherry huh?"

Andy laughed. "I have all the stuff programmed now. Systems working great. Sometimes I think all the negetive shit we keep hearing about the DIANE system is a vicious rumor being planted by Grumman's rivals."

The catapults were working fast on the bow. In the space of four minutes Dad saw two F-4 Phantoms and Two EA-3D Skywarriors shot off with John Caserotti's 509 coming up on the right hand track run as another F-4 went airborne on the left cat.

The yellow shirt next to Dad's plane gave the hand signals for Dad to release the wheel brakes and start moving towards the boy for launch. A signal to test drop his tailhook, a signal to raise the tailhook, a signal to test the shimmee on his nose gear stearing then a pause to hold as the right cat JBD (Jet Blast Deflector) Panel raised and 509 began to move all its' flight controls in preperation for launch.

Dad looked down to check his instruments again and to arrange the papers and maps on his kneeboard for better access when Andy's screaming suddenly snapped his head back up...

"FUCK! FUCK! OH FUCK!" Andy screamed as he looked towards the bow! Dad just caught the image in his eyes and it never left them. The horrifying image of 509 standing strait up in the air only a few feel from the end of the bow, a terrifying tail stand suspended in animation until the bright burst of white and the flash of a trail of flame and smoke punched from the canopy glass and the Intruder fell backwards on it's back and almost smacked the right edge of the flightdeck as it vanished into the dark...

"CRASH! CRASH! CRASH! 509 IS DOWN! 509 IS DOWN!" The Air Boss screamed over the flight deck speakers and hordes of men were running for the starboard (right side) of the ship.

"Fuck!" Andy kept saying as Dad clicked his radio. "Control this is 503...is this a suspension? Are we suspended over?"

The plane guard Helo zoomed over the flight deck from the port side as the flight deck control radio'd back. "503...we're going to put you back on Elevator Three until further word. We had a single ejection and the Helo's working on that now."

Dad saw the yellow shirt coming and followed the deck crew's instructions back to elevator 3 where Sandy Boyard met the plane and quickly threw chains on it before bounding up Dad's ladder...

"Sandy? Did you see it?" Dad asked.

"Oh my God sir!" Sandy was shaking..."He just went strait up off the cat Sir...the tail just kicked under right off the cat..."

Andy stood up on his ejection seat and Dad snapped at him. "Damn it Andy! Pin that fucken seat! We're not having another accident tonight!"

Sandy reacted quickly, flipping the top safety switch of the seat to safe and throwing a pin through the eyelett so the seat wouldn't accidently fire off. "You're good Sir!"

"Sandy? How many seats did you see?" Dad asked the plane captain.

"Only one Sir...just one and I think it was the B/N but I'm not sure. I got flash blinded but the seat went right over my head." Sandy replied. "Can you survive punching that low to the water?"

"If you're not heavy for the seat." Dad replied as he unbuckled himself. His radio cracked..."503? Your launch is canceled. Midway will take the mission."

"Rodger control." Dad replied. "Any word on the crew?" He asked.

"We have one...503. He's being rushed to the Mercy (A hospital ship) no word on the second crewman. 509 is gone."

Dad grabbed Sandy by his float jacket and shook him. "Tie the plane down and do the usual before you start balling Sandy."

Dad then looked at Andy and grabbed his flight bag.

August 31, 1967

8:20pm

Ready Room Five

The Executive Officer, Lieutenant Commander Goodale met Dad and Andy at the door. "What did you guys see? Where were you spotted on the flick deck?""

"We were behind and between the JBD Panels waiting for the port cat to open up." Dad said. "I only saw it for a second before it went in. Andy saw it go down the track."

Andy said..."It hit the end of the stroke and went vertical like "snap" on the fucken tail.

"We got nothing from the cockpit." Goodall replied. "Apparently it was Burgess who punched out, he's on the Mercy right now. Skipper's with the ship CO and CAG (Commander Air Group) any statements you can provide right now on what you remember will help."

Dad thought..."Only an elevator throw could do that Sir."

"Yeah." Goodall replied. "Which means your department, the Airframes branch. Chief Magkasi's probably already down there getting statements and doing the preliminary securing of information and documents."

Andy rubbed his forehead, his head was splitting with a migraine..."What about rudder pack failure?"

Dad replied. "The rudder would automatically go to neutral but there is the thousand and one shot?"

Goodall nodded. "Go down and see Chief Magkasi Kevin? Then try to get some sleep. I'm sure the Skipper will call for an officer's meeting tomorrow morning and an all hands a little later."

"Yes Sir." Dad replied. He said nothing till he got to his stateroom and found John Mackee sitting at the desk hutch massaging his hand with his lips in thought..."Did you see it?" John asked.

Dad threw his flight bag on his bed and dropped onto the edge..."I wish people would stop fucken asking me that...yeah...I got an eye full of it...God damn it."

"You alright?" John asked.

"I wish everyone would shut the fuck up with that too." Dad replied. He took a moment and said..."I'm...sorry Sir...I didn't."

"Cut the senior officer shit." John said. "I'm only asking the questions everyone will ask because you have to be ready to get right back in the seat again. This isn't luxury hour at the Oak Harbor tavern. Right now? I'm barely holding it back because my friend just fucken died and we're not cleared one day in the zone...fucken bull shit!"

Dad sighed..."Now are you ok?" He asked John.

"You know?...getting shot out of the sky over a combat zone? Yeah...that's hard to take but at least the reason was clear. Smacking into the ground at 500 knots on a low level evasion? Yeah...you can accept that. Killed on a fucken launch at the end of the stroke? That one takes a while to process."

Dad laid back on his back. "John had two kids didn't he?"

"Three..." John Mackee replied. "Three...and I hope it was a malfunction and not something else. How do you explain this to a man's children? Regret to inform you that due to a fuck up by someone...your father and husband died for nothing. I don't know how I could face Mary Casserotti with that. Now I regret ever being their best man. That's the terrible part of forming friendships in Naval Aviation...the chance one of you end up being killed...and not by something you could accept that would cussion the blow."

John climbed into his bed and looked over the edge at Dad. "Would it be too much to ask if we could leave that hutch light on for a few hours?"

"No problem." Dad replied.

September 1, 1967

7:20pm

Ready Room Five

To say that it sucked the next morning in the Ready Room would be an understatement. No one was talking among the pilots. The Executive Officer was sitting behind the clerical counter with Dan Elsberry going over the historical records of Ram Nine before they wrapped red ribbons around the covers and sealed them with glue for the coming investigation. Dad spent some time visiting airframes before he came up and there was a noticable air of worry and uncertainty among the enlisted guys with faces displaying a sort of "I hope it wasn't me." concern. Anything could have caused 509 to go volently out of whack and into the drink...busted cable, broken linkages, a careless tool or dropped coin that made that once in a billion length of travel into the once place where it could bind up the flight controls. Foreign objects in planes was always a dire hazard in Naval Aviation that people strove to control.

"ATTENTION ON DECK!" Came Elsberry's voice and everyone in the room popped tall as Charlie Saffell entered the ready room followed by Captain Bill Endberg the Commander of the carrier air wing aboard Columbia and Columbia's commanding officer; Captain Norm Vandiver.

Saffell got to the podium and motioned for Elsberry to leave since he was an enlisted man and this was an officer only meeting...

"Obviously...this is not at all a good morning. I assume all of you by now understand why but just to make sure...last night at 1946 pm (7:46) aircraft 509 with Lieutenant John Casserotti and Garrett Burgess departed normal flight parameters of the starboard catapult. Pitched into the vertical. Stalled and crashed into the Pacific Ocean. Lieutenant Casserotti is presumed to be lost at sea. Lieutenant Burgess ejected from the aircraft with just enough altitude and time to be slowed before he hit the water. He's pretty busted up. Thoughts and prayers for him and for the Casserotti family..."

Saffell took a moment of silence..."From what has been gathered thus far...the aircraft's elevators went into full forward detent (90 degrees face forwards, front edge down) the reason for this is yet unknown. We're hoping Lieutenant Burgess is able soon to give us some idea as it happened so quickly that a word didn't get back to the ship. I know this... I know this sucks. First day on the line and we lose a plane and a pilot. No one has to say anything about Lieutenant Casserotti...I feel like you guys...it's not fair...not fair. I will include a blank piece of paper in the letter I am writing to his wife so you can all put in your own words. I think CAG has something to say..."

CAG Endburg took the podium. "Eternal father...we pray to thee...to guard our brothers...above the sea. In who's great vastness do they soar...to protect the dear so far from shore...When I was flying off the USS Boxer in Korea in 1952 gentlemen, we averaged five pilots every two weeks; that was 24 pilots in a single combat deployment. Not all of them died at the hands of the enemy. Hell...we lost one just because the stupid tow tractor driver didn't look where he was backing the stupid plane and he pushed it off the ship. These things are our reality but as with our profession we have little time to mourn our friends...we have a war to fight. We would ask the same thing of the crew of 509 had it been anyone else; Midway will carry you today but tomorrow you must be ready to get back in the seat and go over the beach...Sounds heartless but that is the fact of combat. The memorial service for Lieutenant Casserotti will be announced soon but until then? Be ready to resume flight operations tomorrow morning. That's all I can say."

The Ship's commanding officer took the podium next..."I can only justify what the CAG said...talk among yourselves, don't hold back your emotions, take a day to cry, mourn, deal with that empty seat among us but don't dwell on it. We have a job to do and the ground grunts are counting on us so they don't add a name behind Lieutenant Casserotti's in this war. Talk to your enlisted people, especially the one's who might think they're at fault and take this personally. Keep the rumors down, don't compromise the investigation we need to do, we must make sure its' not the aircraft design at fault...most important...don't stay quiet if you feel you can't fly...we need to know."

The meeting broke up with Dad hanging near the coffee maker with Andy, Nate Marsdan, Tony Gurrero, Pane Kennedy and Terry Wise...

"Full detent." Dad said as he swished the coffee in his cup. "That would explain the full up attitude climb and stall. I don't remember any other time that's ever happened with the Intruder...you guys?"

The other officers shook their heads..."She had a phase maintenance period before we left, everything was open, I flew the functional check flight and threw that plane all over the place and not a single problem." Pane Kennedy said. "Maybe something was in there and got that lucky shot or maybe the control cable snapped?"

Tony Gurrero shook his head. "We've beaten that one to death? The rudders automatically spring back to neutral and lock up and have you ever stopped to look at that cable? Godzilla couldn't pull that steel wire apart let alone the hydraulics involved in the tail section. My bet's on the auto-pilot, we've had problems with that system."

Dad shook his head. "There hasn't been an accident where the auto-pilot just "fuck you'd" the plane into vertical like that. The whole thing...if you wanted to speculate...has to start with the control stick itself."

"You're saying John did it?!" Nate snorted.

"No damn it." Dad replied. "No...but if you're going to look at the accident from a matter of cause and elimination? The stick is where you start. To affect the horizontal stabs, something had to happen with the control stick."

Andy raised a finger. "Maybe John had a medical condition? A stroke, heart attack, epileptic fit, Diabetes?"

John Mackee chimed in..."Stop right there ok? I knew John...he was healthy as a bull ox, stop creating rumor Chevy's you guys?"

That broke up the small get together and Dad followed John Mackee down to the hanger bay where they sulked around the parked planes for a while making small talk before John went to check on his division, at that time John Mackee was the Ordinance Shop Division Officer.

Dad was always a curious guy, call it OCD or whatever, but once he got hooked on some subject or some thing? He'd practically use his head like a hammer and fixate on it. So it was that he climbed up one of the A-6's that was down in the hanger for maintenance and sat on the lip of the canopy slide rail gazing into the cockpit...

"Excuse me? Sir?" Came a voice from below. A second class petty officer was looking up at Dad. "Sir? I got to pull the VDI out of this airplane."

"Oh?!...Sorry...Petty Officer Takahashi...yeah...let me move over." Dad said as he climbed over the seats to the B/N's side and allowed the second class to lean in on the pilot's side.

AQ2 (Aviation Radar Technitian second class) Reno Takahashi was a native of Pemblico , a small town in Nebraska. He was a first generation Nisei Japanese, his parents both came from Japan after the Pacific War, and had been doing very well in the service; earning a meritorious advancement to 2rd class he had been offered OCS and a fast track from seamen to admiral...yet he didn't take it and Dad wondered why not, though he never wanted to ask such a personal question. Yet the guy loved his job...

"About Mister Casserotti Sir? Very sad." Reno said as he started to unfasten the pilot's VDI box from the instrument frame.

"Yes..." Dad replied. "That's why I was up here. Trying to figure out a cause."

"Isn't that why we have investigations?" Reno asked. "I would think you as a pilot would not want to burden yourself with something so painful. I think everyone in the squadron liked Mister Casserotti a lot judging by all the tears."

Reno put the four screw fasteners in his pocket then gestured to the control stick. "If you can help me by pulling the stick back sir? You can't get the VDI out unless the stick is back or they remove it."

Dad grabbed the stick and watched Reno wiggle and wrestle the VDI box loose from the frame until it popped out and bumped into the stock of the control stick...

That's when Dad's mouth slightly dropped..."What the?...hold the box there Reno?"

Reno looked at Dad with a cocked face. "Oh kay?"

"Reno? There's only four fasteners holding the VDI in? How heavy is that box?" Dad asked.

"Heavy enough that I can't carry it down the boarding ladder." Reno replied. "It almost takes two guys with their hands on the handles to carry it."

Dad kept looking at how the box rested against the control stick collumn. "Let me see the fasteners?"

Reno pulled the bolt headed screws out and gave them to Dad. "Pretty short fasteners for something this heavy don't you think?"

"Yeah...but with it weighing so heavy and the VDI sitting in the frame at an angle, you really don't need big screws." Reno replied.

Dad pondered as he sat in the B/N's seat..."What would happen if this airplane was on the catapults and the VDI in it wasn't secured?"

Reno looked down at the VDI box...I dunno about that Sir. This box is pretty heavy and as long as the weight and the slant which it sits counters the sudden acceleration...it should stay put in the frame."

Dad pursed his llips..."Do you think so?"

Reno pursed his lips..."Good physics would say otherwise. An unfastened object inside another object put under sudden acceleration would stay at rest until reacted upon by a side of the object under acceleration."

Dad smirked at Reno. "Now I have an excuse to ask...what the hell is wrong with you petty officer? Why did you reject O.C.S. ?"

Reno replied..."That's a little complicated to explain Sir...long story. But your idea sounds plausable."

Dad leaned over..."Do me a favor Petty Officer Reno and scan through your "gripe" (maintenance complaints about aircraft problems) books for any mention of the VDI box screws?"

"I can already give you an answer Sir." Reno replied. "They're too short. We get write ups all the time about missing screws. If people putting the box back in aren't careful and get the box seated in the frame correctly? They could under-tighten the fasteners and they don't hold. They might "feel" tight on the screwdriver but they're not regullation tight. You know? Three threads past the fastener reciever?"

Dad gave Reno a shoulder tap..."Sailor? If you don't get a job at NASA and end up flipping burgers somewhere just because it makes you happy? I'll be so pissed off." Bounding down the side of the Intruder, Dad waved goodbye to Reno and ran back up to the ready room...

"Knock, knock..." Dad banged on the wall next to the Skipper's door.

"Enter." Saffell replied.

"Sir?" Dad said as he walked in. "I think I have an idea as to what happened with Lieutenant Casserotti's plane."

Saffell showed off his note book..."You are so slow."

"Sir?" Dad replied.

"AQ2 Takahashi already told me his ideas." Saffell said smiling.

"His ideas?" Dad snorted. "Why that claim jumping..."

"Easy Kevin." Saffell begged. "That Sailor's on the fast track to a chief petty officer, don't bogart him. I'm going to write the report up the chain that's sure to give him a commendation and yourself a possitive entry in your fittness evaluations. Win, win on both. It's a shame that Lieutenant Casserotti had to be the guy who drew the short straw. I knew about the problem with the screws, some other pilots did too...we just wish we didn't have to lose a guy to find out how serious such a trivial little thing as a damn 5 cent screw bolt could be."

Saffell looked at Dad..."How are you feeling?"

"Happy that it wasn't Lieutenant Casserotti who caused the mishap Sir. Hopefully we can prevent this from happening again." Dad replied. "If the VDI box was the cause. Still no word on Lieutenant Burgess?"

"No...nothing new right now." Saffell replied. "The deployment's only starting Kevin. Let's keep that in mind?" Saffell replied. "Keep your head in the game. Good call on suggesting the VDI box though...I knew there was more to you than flying."

"Just wanting to do good for the command Sir." Dad said as he excused himself.

September 4, 1967

9:20pm

503 off the port catapult

Target: The Ho Che Minh trail with LCDR Robert Dybdhaul and LT Tony Gurrero in Ram 505.

Tactical flight grid map of the Ho Che Minh trail (1967)

Dad reached cruising altitude at 19,000 feet above the thick clouds of a thunder storm that was passing through, the flashes of lightening casting multi-colored blotches on the cloud surfaces as Dad flew the Intruder around the compass dial waiting for Lieutenant Commander Dydbhaul to show up. He didn't mind Andy's checking of the various boxes and indicators at first but after five minutes...it got annoying.

"Andy?" If nothing flew out after the cat launch? I'm pretty confident the maintenance guys did their jobs right." Dad said as he rested a hand on Andy's shoulder.

"Just a harmless double take boss." Andy said as he went back to his console. "Did you write Cindy?"

"Yeah...not easily trust me." Dad replied. He didn't tell my mother until years later that he was waiting behind Casserotti to launch and he saw the accident. You'd think being married to another high speed jet pilot who knows your abilities like a pair of underwear would be any less worried than the dependent wife at home in an age where communication was no better than a string phone. Can you imagine a string phone from Washington State to Saigon? And yes...it's still Saigon not "Ho Che Minh City" let me say "Uncle Ho's village" and see if dad didn't slap me.

The space between departure and target is extremely boring, trust me. A-6 or other aircraft, you quickly fall into the mundane...which is why you don't flip on the auto pilot and risk a Pane Stewart nose plant into the ground. You try to find something to do which won't break your focus nor put you in a coma. Hence, trivial Pursuit at 18,000 feet with Lieutenant Commander Dybdhaul already having stacks of questions on white cards, yeah...Pat Sayjack in an Intruder; Dad wondered where the guy got all his information...

"Name the early film actor charged with raping and killing a woman with his fat ass?" Dybdhaul said as his Intruder flew next to dad's.

"W.C. Fields." Andy replied.

"The Mayor of the Munchkins from Wizard of Oz." Dad said snickering.

"What the fuck?" Andy asked.

"He looks like a pervert ok?" Dad said shrugging.

"Beeeh..." Dybdhaul chimed back. "Wrong. Fatty Arbuckle."

"Did he really do that?" Andy asked.

"No." Dybdhaul replied. "Fatty's the first big Hollywood career destroyed by the media. The girl died from drugs, as do all the Hollywood women."

"Like Aunti M from the Wizard of Oz." Dad said.

"You're kidding me?" Andy said back.

"No." Dad said shaking his head. "Her arthritis was really painful so she decided to end it. Took sleeping pills and put a bag over her head."

Andy frowned. "Thanks boss...thanks for fucking my childhood."

"Andy? Look what it's done to Judy Garland, she's a wreck now and you can tell she's strung out on pills or something. Hollywood does that to people. I swear if any of my kids think they're going to Hollywood to become "stars" I'll kick their asses raw...no way in hell."

Andy chuckled..."You pitch your idea about the trail to Bob?"

Dad clicked his Radio. "Sir? What did you think of my idea?"

Bob Dybdhaul radio'd back. "What did John Caserrotti think about it?"

"Said no joy. That Central in Saigon tolerated no deviations from planning. We drop where the sensors show movement." Dad replied.

"And right he is." Bob replied. "When all mightly authority speaks...thou shalt listen... hamana, hamana...however? If DIANE were suddenly to go "On the rag" and register to you her sore displeasure? You would have to resort to manual bombing which as we know can result in stray bombs doing their own thing? Like...oh...smacking the trail farther up from the intended target point?"

Dad and Andy looked at each other then Andy spoke into his radio..."Ram Lead this is Ram Three?...uhhhhh...my attempt at setting my system for auto-level bombing is coming up squirrely? I think I'm having a Rotus locking problem, will advise on condition but at the moment we may have to rely on manual release over?"

"Rodger your little problem three." Bob replied as he switched his radio for the air operations control plane known as "Red Crown" that was flying above Saigon...

"Red Crown? This is Ram Leader with a two ship flight to observe the Ho Che Minh trail. My wingman's having a system related issue...A-6 Intruder bombing system. I have advised him that he must use manual bombing...over?"

Red Crown replied. "Rodger on your problem Ram Leader, continue with your mission and rendezvous with "Houdini" (Call sign for the EA-3D Skywarrior electronic aircraft) on button four seven over?"

"Rodger Red Crown." Bob replied. "Button four seven with Houdini. Ram Leader out."

Bob looked at his VDI screen and flipped his plane to plane mic..."We're now feet dry."

"Rodger feet dry." Dad replied.

"Houdini EA-3 this is Ram Leader...feet dry and in route to your holding, reply over?" Rob called.

"Ram Leader this is Houdini EA-3, affirm on your in route, set course 275, altitude at 20,000 feet, speed in the pattern 234 knots." The Skywarrior replied.

"Houdini EA-3 this is Ram Leader...is it busy on the uncle ho highway tonight? Over?"

"Ram Leader this is Houdini EA-3...not at the moment. The Air Force dropped a new basket of sensors this morning and there's been no stirring or any mice bumping uglies over?"

Andy chuckled. "We bombed people because of humping mice...awesome."

September 4, 1967

10:43pm

Houdini's "Ice Rink Run" above the Ho Che Minh trail

Andy passed Dad his thermos top filled with coffee. "Have some boss?"

"Nah..." Dad replied. "If I drink that? We'll really be in trouble because I won't be able to stay awake. Then you'll have to land us which will certainly suck." Dad hit his radio. "Hey Bob? You guys bouncing your heads yet?"

"It's too early for that." Bob replied. "We brought a deck of cards. No seriously...deck of cards..." Bob waved a playing card over his head from his cockpit.

Suddenly...Houdini called over the Radio. "Ram Lead, Houdini...multiple trip sensor indications at the following co-ordinates...Grid 210...240...up 3 line 50. Heavy on the returns..."

Bob replied. "Copy your grid Houdini...Ram lead and tail going hot on Grid 210...240...up 3 line 50." He then called Dad..."Ram Three, state your condition again on your hardware."

"No change Leader." Andy replied. "System is not reliable. We have to bomb manually." Of course Andy was bull shitting it. Bob would drop a pair of Rockeyes on the grid while Dad would throw a pair of "slick" Mark 82 500 pound bombs farther up the trail in case the Vietcong were working a ruse tactic. Andy quickly worked a four point course to set up the inbound/outbound attack pattern, taking into account the rolling, mountainous terrain that "tacco'd" the trail in a valley. Not being careful of ground topography kills a lot of military pilots who forget they're not attacking targets on flat land. Even thought the Intruder could do all that work itself with the DIANE...Andy was thankfully not too trusting of technology...

"Got you set up boss." Andy said as he pointed to the pilot's VDI screen. "Course laid in. Attack point laid in. Push over at 3.9 miles from target. 35 degree attack dive. Release at 7k (7000 feet) for safety. Outbound at 175 degrees to 18k (18,000 feet) come right to the first marker 020 degrees Northeast...now!"

Dad rolled the Intruder onto the first leg heading and called out to Bob..."503 on the first leg. Where you at Bob?"

"I'm coming in on my target from Southeast to Northwest. Our separation is two miles." Bob replied. You certainly didn't want two Intruders kissing each other in the dark.

Andy said into his radio. "Coming up on the second turn, heading 2...7...1 in three...two...one...turn."

Dad rolled the Intruder left and clicked the auto-level switch on his stick to bring it level and true towards the I.P. Point that was now racing up for the course indicator box on the VDI screen as Andy reached for the Master Arm switch and threw it up to ARMED...

"Your pickle is hot! Two Mark 82 slicks selected!" Andy snapped.

"Two Mark 82 Slicks eye! Altitude 19,345 feet, Speed 510, coming up on the I.P. Turn.."

Dad replied...

"Leads in hot!" Bob Dybdhaul called out, which meant he was into the attack on his end against Houdini's call out."

Andy spoke into his radio. "I.P. Turn...three, two, one...turn!"

Dad rolled the Intruder into it's attack run..."Three is in hot!" Meaning Dad was coming down the run track towards delivery.

"Leads out!" Bob called, meaning his Intruder was now screaming back skyward from dropping its' Rockeye cluster bombs.

Dad called out Speed, Altitude and closing distance to where he would start his attack dive and Andy replied with "True and steady". So far there had been no serious ground fire coming up from below but they really wouldn't see any until Dad began to dive or the resulting explosions were enough to piss off the Vietcong.

Dad's eyes bounced between his compass, the countdown clock and the VDI screen as the DIANE showed the calculated point in the sky where Dad would put his plane into a steel 45 degree dive on the target. He would release the bombs manually by way of the "pickle" switch on his stick...

When the climbing indicator ball came close to the directional box on the VDI screen... Dad pulled the throttles to idle, popped open the wing tip speed brakes and pushed the control stick to set the nose into a 45 degree diving attack. Here's where the Intruder's crew coordination was vital which is why crews were pared even before they came to the A-6 RAG outfit...

Andy handled the scanning of the instruments, the calling out of altitude, the eyeball search through the darkness outside the canopy for flak and enemy fire...all Dad did was hold the stick, keeping his finger on the release trigger, ready to punch the bombs and pull the plane out of a screaming hell dive as the aiming cross on his HUD (Head Up Display) crossed the imagined point of impact and the aural release alarm went off!

"7K...Hack! (Release) bombs away!" Dad snarled as he felt the bombs getting punched free of their racks. Swiftly he threw the throttles all the way forwards and pulled back on the stick, feeling the Intruder shudder hard as she rolled through the bottom of the "roller coaster" and screamed back upwards at 50 degrees and 520 miles per hour.

"BAM!" Andy snapped as he saw the detonations of the Mark 82's. "Salt and Pepper!" (light infantry weapons fire) He snapped and Dad through the Intruder into a tight series of jinks and rolls to evade the bursts of ground fire...

"Any secondaries out of that?" Dad asked Andy as he leveled off the Intruder.

"Didn't see anything boss." Andy replied. "But obviously they're fricken pissed off.

Dad called Bob..."You get anything Bob?"

"Nothing evident." Bob said back as he re-joined Dad in the running track. "But a nice delivery on the trail, that's for sure."

Houdini called out..."Ram Lead, Houdini...we got tripped sensors going off for 200 yards from your impact point back towards the North...looks like you whipped up the whole nest and they're scrambling."

"Rodger that Houdini." Bob replied. "What do you want?"

"Give then a six pack gift. Expedite delivery." Houdini said. "Grid 210...240...to Grid 220...240...up 3 line 50 to bottom 6 line 50 out."

"Ridger grid pattern Houdini!" Bob replied. Then he called again to Andy. "Ram Three, Ram Lead give status on your system?"

"Intermittent response Lead. Accuracy not reliable." Andy replied as he set up Dad for a six bomb "drape" down the trail.

"Ok...target to lay center of my spread and work north." Bib replied...which was once again a lie. Dad was going to lay his bombs up the trail for by now the Vietcong knew there were Intruders (The Vietnamese called them "Naga" after the mythical serpent of the Mekong Delta who killed humans mostly at night) around and they were on the hunt.

Dad looked over at Andy. "Set me up for a level pass drop at 7,000 feet."

"You got it boss..." Andy replied as he tapped into his computer and set up the way points again for the run. "Way points set...six Mark 82's...level delivery at 7,000 feet...

automatic release set up...turn to the first way point in three...two...one...now!"

Dad rolled the Intruder and pushed the nose down to take the plane from 18,000 to 10,000 and pushed the throttles to 75 percent power before tapping the auto-pilot and leaving the plane to fly the rest of the attack...

"Ram Lead in hot! Six Mark 20's." Bob called out as he began his bomb run.

Dad and Andy now felt the Intruder roll over to the left as the auto-pilot steered it onto the bomb run course and kicked up the throttles to full power. "Ram Three in hot! Six Mark 62 slicks at 7000 feet!" Dad called out."

"Ram Lead out!" Rob said as he dropped his cluster bombs and was climbing back up. "Salt and pepper!" (Anti-aircraft fire)

Salt and pepper was right. Dad and Andy could see tracers flying up from the ground in their path but they were trying to nail Bob's plane and would be too late to react to Dad's bird as it screamed over their heads and punched off the six 500 pound bombs...

"Thump...thump...thump..." The bombs punched from their racks in a spread sequence and Dad deactivated the auto-pilot and turned sharply away and up to avoid the shooting below as the bombs connected with the ground!

"We got secondaries!" Andy yelped. "Small secondaries...probably nailed a few small arms amo lories on that shot!"

Dad called to Bob..."Did you guys get anything?"

"We saw no secondaries." Bob replied. "If it was troops though? They just had a really bad hair day. I have six Rockeye left here."

Dad looked at Andy. "We have six Mark 82." Andy replied. "We have plenty of gas to run again boss."

Dad called Bob. "Another run?"

Bob called houdini..."Houdini, Ram Lead we have bombs left, do you want another run?"

Houdini replied. "Affirmative Ram Lead...split your attack farther South and North of your last impact. The sensors are not pinging but you know those people are probably spread out and digging trenches so let em think we're still around."

Bob called back to Dad. "You heard that Kevin? You take the top, I'll take the bottom. After this we go home."

"Rodger Sir." Dad replied.

September 5, 1967

2am

Ready Room Five

Dad finished his after action report and handed it to Marvin Long who read over it and walked to a tactical map of the Ho Che Minh trail that was covered in a sheet of glass so people could write on it with grease markers...

"So what kind of "ack ack" (anti-aircraft) did you face?" Marvin asked.

"Small arms mostly." Dad replied. "SIW (Squad Infantry light weapons) with LCMG (Low Caliber Machine Guns) Houdini said the sensors were going off all over the place which means a lot of infantry were around."

"How was your system?" Marvin asked. "From what LCDR Dybdhaul described, you guys were phasing in and out?"

"Yeah...disapointing." Dad said. "Usually three is a reliable bird but this time DIANE was on her period. I talked to the trons and asked them to look at it." Yeah, Dad lied his ass off. He spotted the whole tron shop the first round of beers at the first squadron party in Subic Bay if they'd pull a bull shit and fabricate gripes. Pilots did stuff like that all the time, you'd do anything as a pilot to get an edge and fudge the tipping point of illegality if it gave you a favor.

Getting to his stateroom...Dad was a little miffed to find a teddy bear laying on the rack with a pair of panties on it and a note saying "Fuck me long time!" He responded to that by slapping the sleeping John Mackee off the head..."Ass hole!"

"Hey! Slapping a superior officer? What the fuck gives?" John feigned innocence.

"You touch this again John and I'll more than slap you silly...jerk." Dad restored the stuffy on his pillow.

"I thought it was from you wife ok? Sheesh, temper much?" John said as he sat up.

"It's from my son...you's know that if you read the gift tag?" Dad replied. "And I'm sorry for striking a superior officer..."

John flopped onto his stomach as Dad got out of his flight suit and grabbed a towel. "So how was the mission tonight?" John asked.

"Milk run." Dad replied. "I did that trick of Charlie Hunters and we got some returns, I think we must have caught a regiment of Viet Cong or something good sized judging by the returns the sensors on the ground were giving the EA-3."

John smiled. "You get good things from your family. Me? Just cards and the occasional contraband...want some spiced chocolate?"

Dad frowned. "It's not that moonshine is it?"

"Oh hell no." John replied. "My wife made chocolate cherry liqueur drops, trust me...they are to die for. English Bourbon. Did you hear the latest news yet?"

Dad leaned against the bunk. "Where have I been most of the day?"

"Looks like Uncle Ho (Nick name for Ho Che Minh) spurned LBJ again...as if it hasn't become the regular thing these days...so you know what that means?"

Dad sighed..."The North is going to be open again?"

"All except for the targets that would matter." John replied. "Midway leaves in a week to replace the Kitty Hawk so they'll be taking on what they can between Hanoi and Haiphong. We get most of the Southern half of the North like Vinh City to the DMZ with the Marines. That will keep the "Shep's busy enough."

Dad finished his shower and went to his rack. "I would have had the day off tomorrow if not for the mandatory ready room meeting."

"It won't be that long." John replied. "Besides...the day after is a "no fly day" so we can get supplies and bombs from UNREP (Under-way replenishment) so you'll get plenty of rest

Dad stopped to re-read his latest letter to Mom and Keith before he went to sleep...

Dear Cin...

Tell Keith thank you for the stuffed teddy bear; I'm keeping him on my pillows and I sleep with it every night. I know...big tough Navy pilot sleeps with a teddy bear. If this ever gets out? I will deny everything...i swear.

I've been on some missions over South Vietnam which were not difficult at all. What's really a shame about this war is how beautiful the country actually is from the air. The sun sets over the mountains here make such awesome colors over the jungles and farmlands; yet everyone believes that the risk of Vietnam and most of Asia falling to Communism is worth the expense we've been putting here even when we can't completely understand the way the war is being managed.

We heard good things about you and the other wives and how you all rallied around and took care of John Caserotti's family. I'm sure we'll hear more from the Skipper tomorrow. We did hear that Lieutenant Burgess is improving having been evac'd (evacuated) from the Mercy to Pearl Harbor. I love you and Keith very much and miss you both a ton. Don't dwell too much on the television news, it will only make things go much slower. I hope you and Bob Dybshaul's wife have kicked it off well. Don't stay at home cindy...get out with friends and enjoy yourself once in a while ok?

I love you both very much

Hugs n Kisses...Dadhubby.

September 5, 1967

7am

Ready Room Five

Dad flopped down next to Andy and shook as he yawned...

"Did you get any sleep at all?" Andy asked.

"A little." Dad replied. "These crazy hours are a train wreck."

Andy showed Dad a piece of paper. "Preliminary assessment from last night said we chewed up an NVA column pretty hard. They counted three small lorie trucks in the blast zones but no bodies. The NVA must have pulled out what thy could."

"Yeah...it's typical for them." Dad replied. "Not only to mislead us but for their personal consumption back home. They lie about their casualties and stagger the reports out so the population doesn't lose face."

Andy took a swig of coffee and bit into a doughnut. "The news says LBJ's opening the North back up. Skipper's probably going to mention that."

"That's what John said to me last night." Dad replied. "That the Midway will probably move North in the next few days to take up Yankee Station and go into Hanoi and Haiphong. We're not going to be waiting forever."

The Skipper and Executive Officer came up to the front. "Ok people let's take seats and get this done? Saffell asked as he stood at the podium.

"First...Lieutenant Burgess is at Pearl Harbor in good condition. However...he won't be seeing a cockpit again. I've put the address on the board, I'm sure he wants to hear from all of us. Things have been tough. He has given the investigation insight as to what happened that night and confirming AT2 Takahashi's theory...everyone turn around and acknowledge him please?...confirming his theory, he was correct. The pilot's VDI box was let loose from the control panel frame and wedged the control stick backwards which resulted in John's aircraft departing into the vertical. Petty Officer Takahashi wrote up a fix proposal, good on you petty officer, which NAVAIR will certainly adopt but I'm not waiting. We're doing a down day tomorrow so all our primary mover aircraft are solid. The does not excuse any of you to make sure your instruments are secure before launch. We'll never know exactly if the VDI was unsecured or poorly secured. What matters is that they WILL BE secure."

"I can confirm the rumor mill and news concerning the latest attempts by the President to effect a solution to the conflict...Uncle Ho said no so the wiz-kids in Washington are ready to begin "Rolling Thunder part IV" and if you think this is beginning to sound like some poor hollywood trilogy series? Expect it. As always most of Hanoi and Haiphong will be off limits and Washington will pick the targets. Midway is moving up to Yankee Station, we will remain in Dixie until mid-october then it will be our turn to sit in the roaster. We can hope that something happens to effect another pause or cessation but...that's the politicians problem, we just carry out policy."

"As of today...The First Marine Division and the South Vietnamese Army are carrying out Operation Swift in the Que Son Valley which our brother squadron the Sheps are taking primacy for as CAS (close air support) the fighting so far has been fierce with the Marines mixing it up with NVA and Viet Cong. Allied casualties stand at 37, enemy casualties unknown."

"On the Mekong River and in the Delta, The RV Navy (Republic of Vietnam) and the U.S. Navy are conducting joint seek and destroy operations in the riverette regions. They may call for support if things get crazy but so far the Air Force and the Vietnamese Air Force are providing air cover. The numbers of Cong and NVA in this area is estimated to be light."

Saffell pointed to the back of the room. "Petty officer Takahashi? Did you have something to add?"

"Yes Sir." Reno replied. " The AQ/AE shops need to make sure we have all the complaints and gripes about systems from the pilots and B/N's so we can make the needed repairs. Please be mindful that our supply system is still not the greatest which means we have to rob the hanger birds and do "Frankenstonian" modifications as needed."

"What the fuck?" Lieutenant Commander Casper snorted. "Where did you come up with that term Petty Officer?"

"It kinda fits you know?" Reno replied with a shrug. "Seriously...with the way the supply system is for the Intruders? That's just about where we are Sir."

The Skipper waved a hand. "I don't think anyone is questioning your skill Petty Officer Takahashi."

"Maybe his sexuality." Lieutenant Marsden snickered. "The un-regulation hair bang down the center of his head looks a little effeminate to me."

Reno replied. "Sir?"

"Yes Petty Officer?" Nate replied.

"Go fuck yourself smartly." Reno snorted, which got claps and whoops from the officers.

"Now that's why enlisted Sailors are the bravest people in the military!" The Skipper snapped. "You may leave Reno before these guys kill you now."

Reno bowed and walked out...being sure to flip Marsden off from behind his back.

"That just confirms he's fruity." Nate snorted.

Saffell pursed his lips. "Can I please have the floor again so I can finish this up?"

The officers quieted down...

"On behalf of John Casserotti's wife Mary and his children, I want to express her affection and gratitude for how the whole squadron reacted between collected donations from officers, Chiefs and enlisted men to how the wives pitched in to see see Mary and the children settled back with her parents. Obviously it has not been an easy time but I make it an established point that this squadron never lets its own down...never...never...our reputation demands nothing less. That being said we must continue to make sure that pilots, planes and crews are cared for, that every thing that can be done to shoot men off and get them back over the blunty end will be done. Not going home with Casserotti is one pilot too many...no more...and no stupid chances by any of us, not for a body count, not for a number crunch and not because some college ass hole with a yard stick up his ass will get a fucken gashed pussy because he didn't get his daily accounting sheet... You all know me...you will always come before any D.C. couch flying cock sucker as far as this war is concerned. I think I make myself clear?"

The assembled officers nodded.

"That being said? I will now turn the floor over to our visiting guest. Staff Sargent of Marines Louis Alexander who will review with you some techniques of evasion in the un-likely event you get shot down over the happy hunting ground."

September 5, 1967

9am

Hanger Bay

"If you should encounter Tiger shit or Dog shit...rub it briskly on your legs as tracking dogs tend NOT to want to fuck with Tigers." Lieutenant Reese Boyer snorted out. "Ok? What happens if you use the Tiger shit? And you just happen to attract a Tiger because the shit came from a female?"

Andy shook his head..."What's that like scenario 4569?"

Lieutenant Terry Wise shrugged..."Look for the Tiger perfume and lipstick provided with your survival gear?"

Dad gave Wise a sneer..."I'm glad I don't do long flights with you. I can tolerate Andy's humor just a shade better."

Lieutenant Junior Grade Rodney Haldi was carrying the latest Stars and Stripes newspaper to make it to the ship. "See what's going on back home? There's people at my college burning their draft cards. Guys are actually having their limbs busted so they don't go. People are getting fricken pissed."

"Well what do you want for confusion?" Andy huffed. "Off...on...off...on...we're going on a strike...scrub the strike...on again...scrub it...opps can't bomb here because of the endangered Vietnamese swallow. The only reason I don't quit and say "fuck it" is because I like Kevin too much and I need the money."

Dad replied. "You seriously need to get laid."

"Teddy bear." Wise snickered.

"Fuck you Terry." Andy huffed. "And what about this silly supply system? Was Petty Officer Takahashi serious or what?"

"Oh he's serious alright." Wise replied. "Grumman and its subs can't keep up with the demand...like always, build the plane first before the supply chain. Nothing's changed since World War II, my Dad flew Wildcats and he had some horror stories about some of the planes he had to fly...like glass coke bottles used to substitute damaged oil strainers in engines."

"No way." Andy said.

"Yeah." Wise said. "What they did was cut the top and bottom off with a glass cutter, glued the ends with cut cardboard, ran rubber hose through it and installed it. Lasted only one flight but it was enough for Dad to rape Japanese fighter pussy."

Dad snorted. "Is everything with you a fucken sex act?"

Wise snickered back. "Licking envelopes...is a sex act genius."

And everyone thinks Naval Officers are always "prim and proper gentlemen" akin to Admiral Nelson? Wait till we get into the later part of the book for more shock therapy. Nothing much happened over the next two days save a no-fly day and steel beach barbecue where the mess cooks set up half cut 55 gallon drums on the flight deck and cooked sliders and tubes for the crew. This is how Vietnam was shaping up in the later half of 1967, a serious of pauses and flourishes of combat with the South being constantly active between routine patrols and calls for air support by the ground pounders.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter five**

September 19, 1967

USS Columbia...Dixie Station

CAS Flex call 1137am

Sometimes when there was a lull in dedicated missions to interdict the NVA and the Vietcong, the carrier stands up what's called a "flexible" flight, a line of armed attack planes on a quick launch condition ready to go airborne in case some troops in Vietnam got into a dicey situation...such as the one which caused Dad and Andy to sprint up a flight of stairs and run across the flight deck as the ship's communications system blurted...

"Now launch the CAS Flex! Launch the CAS Flex! CAG is flight lead...Now launch the CAS Flex! Launch the CAS Flex! CAG is flight lead..."

Sandy already had the Intruder hooked up to a portable jet starter and caught Dad's and Andy's flight bags as they passed the plane captain by and bounded up the boarding ladders. All the pre-flight checks and inspections had been done ahead of time so the crew didn't have to waste their time walking around the aircraft...

Sandy came up the pilot's ladder and stowed Dad's bag against his seat..."What is it this time Mister Sterling?"

"Won't know till we get there." Dad replied. "Andy? We have power."

"Obviously." Andy replied as he worked over his switches and keys..."The plane's already starting alignment with SINS...why aren't we turning yet?"

"Impatient? Who's the pilot here?" Dad asked as he signaled to Sandy to start the generator and clicked his radio..."Ram Lead to two and three, you guys nominal?"

"Just starting." LTJG Delvin Gravett in 504 replied. "What's the business today?" LTJG Jaiden Roach in 511 asked. "Coming up on both engines."

"Let me ask CAG (Commander Air Group, Captin Bill Endburg). CAG this is Ram Leader Sir? What's our score over?"

Captain Endburg was in an A-4 Skyhawk on the bow waiting to get airborne. "Some Marines got themselves in a fix from hell South of the DMZ near Dong Hoi. It's a platoon sized spotting unit on top of a hill that just attracted every Regular in the region. The "rafts" (Republic of South Vietnam Air Force) have been throwing F4-U Corsairs at the "Gomers" to hold them back."

Andy cocked his head..."Did CAG just say Corsairs?"

Dad smirked back. "Some old planes just refuse to rot in the desert. The South Vietnamese have a squadron of them and they're damn good with em." Sandy waved to Dad, turned the Intruder over to the flight deck crew and soon 503 was airborne with 504 and 511 "toe tagging" behind towards the "Jolly point" (strike gathering point) before the A-4's and A-6's would race to their intended target.

HILL 773 was just a height designation on a topographic map, 773 feet above sea level. The squad of Marines were a forward artillery observation team for artillery covering the De-markation Line or established boarder line between North and South Vietnam. The NVA had figured out where the Marines were camped and threw a whole regiment at them. 2,000 men against 13 lead by a mean and burly Staff Sargent named Rexcell Knox. So far it seemed...the NVA found out Knox wasn't agreeing with dying easily and the South Vietnamese pilots weren't agreeing either...

September 19, 1967

Marine Artillery spotting squad, 1st Marines

1140am

Staff Sargent Knox ran from Marine to Marine in the ever closing circle they had formed on the top of the hill..."Pick your shots! don't waste your amo! One bullet for one dead ass hole who wants to stick his stupid crown above the bushes!"

Knox's close aid, Corporal Larry Cane, slid into Knox's back..."Sarge! We have incoming squids off the Columbia. They're saying another ten mikes at best!"

"If it wasn't for these "Arbie grunts" (slang for South Vietnamese combat pilots) we'd all be dead right now...God I love these guys!"

The Marines watched a South Vietnamese Corsair dive in on the side of the hill and punch a pair of napalm bombs so close to the crest that the Marines could have cooked hot dogs! Everyone of the hill top Marines had been wounded in some form by the intense fighting from gashes to the most serious wounding requiring a leg tourniquet. At one point the North Vietnamese had even brought loud speakers to the fight...playing horns and whistles and shouting insults to the Marines...

"YOU DIE MARINE! YOU DIE COCK SUCKERS!" The North Vietnamese screamed. Given the ever decreasing supplies of water, Amo and grenades...the NVA might not have been far off...except Knox wasn't impressed.

"WE DIE?! I THINK YOU BETTER PLAY THE SCORE AGAIN YOU DUMB BASTARD!" Knox shouted defiantly on the lip of the crest and got tackled off his feet by Corperal Cane as the NVA lit the spot up with machine gun fire!

"Holy shit Sarge!" Cane snapped. "Are you trying to get killed?"

"No...I'm trying to piss them off so they'll keep making stupid charges!" Knox snapped.

One Marine screamed out. "Sargent! I'm out of grenades!"

"Throw rocks!" Knox snapped back.

"What?" The Marine replied. "What the fuck?"

Knox stormed up to the man, snatched a rock off the ground, threw it into a bush and when a shocked NVA soldier got up to run...Knox shot him in the head with a 45 pistol...

"There..." Knox snaped. "Throw rocks and aim you moron...Christ, what the hell are they teaching these kids in basic, prophylactic safety 101? If you run out of grenades guys?! Chuck rocks and aim!"

September 19, 1967

CAS Flex call 1147am

Four A-4 Skyhawks, Three A-6 Intruders, Three F-4 Phantoms

Flight leader: CAG Commander Endburg

Captain Endburg clicked his radio..."Leader to Kits, Leader to Kits...here's the order. A-4's at 10,000 feet, Intuders at 14,000 feet and Phantoms at 18000 feet. Skyhawks in first, Intruders second, Phantoms last. Expected enemy ground strength around a thousand or so with infantry weapons, maintain 5,000 feet safe distance."

The pilots replied with their plane numbers and "rogers" and split into their assigned altitudes...

"Ok...18 Mark 82 Snakes, that gives us three runs of six bombs a piece." Dad said to Andy. Better be ready for "Danger close" and give em a good spreading."

"Split em around 200ms...should make a nice burst patten for the Cong." Andy replied.

The radio cracked..."Marine ground unit this is "Columbia Blanket" high over your position and ready to rock...what's your situation over?"

"Columbia good to see you! We are circled, at least by a battalion strength NVA opforce (opposing force) danger close...danger close...relief force on its' way but not for another one five mikes...over!"

"Ram Lead, Flight lead...the scooters are starting their runs. We will concentrate East and West...you take North and South. Keep good separation and spare your ordinance. Keep sharp to MGU's alerts for intensity over?"

Dad clicked his radio. "Rodger Flight lead, Ram lead acknowledges orders and will proceed as directed." Dad looked at Andy. "Nix on the six pack drops, go down to three per run and let's stretch it out."

Andy replied. "Ok boss..."

Dad clicked his radio again..."Ram lead to lambs. We're working North and South of the hill. I will take the North side, you guys take the South side. Watch for everyone else. Reduce your drops from six packs to three, we have to make our ordinance last till the relief shows up for the Marines."

Andy looked down on his side of the cockpit to see the South Vietnamese Corsairs pulling out of the fight. "Damn those planes are beautiful."

"Not to the NVA their not." Dad replied. "They saved our guys butts. Now its' up to the rest of us to finish the job. Damn I so want a gun pod on this plane right now."

September 19, 1967

Marine Artillery spotting squad, 1st Marines

1149am

Knox already had shrapnel in his left hip, fragments in his back, a nasty bayonett cut to his cheek and now a spent bullet by crazy luck smacked a rock, went through his wrest and broke his good pistol hand! "Damn it I am having a day that sucks!" Knox roared as he ran to a frustrated M-60 gunner behind a stack of bolder and logs...

"What the hell Mack!" Knox snapped as he handed the Marine his 45 pistol to reload.

"The stupid thing's jammed Sarge!" The Marine replied as he grabbed at Knox's flack jacket and pulled him down as a pair of bombs released by a low flying Skyhawk screamed over their heads and slammed into the crest of the hill...

Knox took the machine gun and dropped it hard enough on the ground to dislodge the stuck charging bolt..."Some things aren't taught in the Manuals Mack, now keep banging that bitch chopper!"

The Corperal cut loose a furious spray that tore up four NVA soldiers trying to top the hill crest..."Where are these guys coming from Sarge?"

"Pooped out of mamma's pussy into basic, now shut the hell up and keep shooting!" Knox snarled as he ran back to the radioman calling in the airstrikes..."Fledge...tell em to drop closer! We'll tighten up the best we can but these people are going to over-run us if we don't sucker more of them up the hill..." Knox screamed as loud as he could. "All you guys pull it in tighter! Save your amo! We're gonna have the drops in real close so keep your heads down if you want to live!"

September 19, 1967

CAS Flex call 1150am

Ram 503 LT Kevin Sterling / LTJG Andrew Mescado

The radio was constantly cracking now with "in hots" and "outs" as planes went in dropping their bombs ever closer to the crest of the hill. Gravett in 504 had just pulled off, throwing three 500 pound bombs over the crest lip as Roach in 511 called "in hot".

Andy threw up a thump to Dad. "Course laid for three drop...go Boss!"

"Ram three in hot!" Dad snapped as he rolled the Intruder on her back, spotted when he wanted to place them rolled it back around as he began to dive on the hill..."

"Picking up Salt and Pepper!" Andy said as he could see the machine gun tracers passing the canopy. Dad pulled the Intruder into a level run at 500 Miles per hour and popped his bombs off!

"Gone, gone gone...hope I didn't frag us! We're cutting it close!" Yeah...close enough to feel the thumps hit the fuselage of the jet as the bombs lit off! Momentary lapses in the excitement of combat can kill pretty quickly. Combat jets, especially loaded with weapons, suffer from what's commonly called "Momentum gap" that time of transition between moving a flight control at high speed and the actual moment that movement affects the change in flight dynamics that changes it's direction. While Dad had leveled out to punch off his bombs, his plane hadn't picked up on the change in elevator positions and the forces enacting on them to try and put the bomb laden plane back into the sky. Everyone got to see the fluke...

"Hey Kevin?" Jaiden Roach called from above...Speed, plus weight, plus ordinance, plus angle..."

"Oh plus fuck you smart ass!" Dad snapped back.

September 19, 1967

Marine Artillery spotting squad, 1st Marines

1153am

Corporal Cane was blasted off his feet by the impacts of the 500 pounders that A-6 Intruder had loosened against some charging NVA and was sure he took fragments in his flak jacket from the close in explosions. His ears were screaming like church bells that was for sure. He gained his feet and scrambled to a spot where three other Marines were bunched up behind a make shift camouflage blind...

"You ok Greg?" Corperal Shawn DeSante asked as he slapped another magazine into his M-16.

"Yeah...sure cut that close." Cane replied as he checked his rifle. "Damn...that shattered my fore stock."

Another Marine pointed to Cane's back. "Good thing you were wearing that! The back's shredded! FUCK!..."

The Marine jumped up and cut loose with his M-14 Rifle, shooting three NVA soldiers that were bounding over the hill crest! "Feeling like Custer right now!"

"Except Custer didn't have planes bombing the Indians man!" A marine noted as he waved over at Sargent Knox..."Sarge! They're pressing us hard over here!"

"Welcome to the club!" Knox replied. "Press them back!"

September 19, 1967

CAS Flex call 1156am

Ram 503 LT Kevin Sterling / LTJG Andrew Mescado

Dad rolled the Intruder upside down and Andy and him watched the concussions from the bombs of other planes going in and out around the hill...

"Boss! I got choppers inbound!" Andy said as he pointed to the top of the canopy glass. Dad clicked his radio for the CAG...

"CAG this is Ram Three...we have choppers on the inbound from 195 Southwest towards 030 Northeast about fifteen miles and closing." Dad radio'd. "Hold onto your ass Andy, we're rolling in hot...Ram Three going hot!"

CAG Endburg replied to Dad's call..."Copy your call...Marine Ground, Columbia blanket, helicopters inbound to your situation...ETA five minutes...Intruders and Phantoms, drop what you have left and pull back..Skyhawks continue to provide straffing support and cover until the grunts are off the hill."

Dad was diving inbound as Andy set the plane to "dump truck" its remaining bombs. "Your pickle is hot boss!" Andy said as he flipped up the Master Arm switch and patted Dad on the shoulder...

"Service with a smile "Charlie" (Nickname for the Viet Cong) we aim to give it your way." Dad snapped as he pulled the Intruder level at eight thousand feet, watch it slip to 4000 feet and pickled the rest of his load into the line of trees and jungle cover as the flight of Marine helicopters swooped in low to pull out Staff Sargent Knox and his platoon.

September 19, 1967

2pm

USS Columbia

Post CAS Flex de-brief with CAG Endburg

Dad and Andy finished hand writing their reports and passed then up with the others as they all sat eating sandwiches and describing their myriad of experiences. Three planes, Skyhawks becaude they flew in so low, got chewed up nicely by the North Vietnamese. One pilot even brought a removed wing panel showing the outgoing shot of a 20 Mil round that had punched through his wing.

"I think they wanted that hill." The pilot said as he wiggled his fingers through the hole.

"Judging by the returning intelligence we have?" CAG Endburg said waving a hand. "They desperately wanted that hill. They threw a whole division against that platoon, that's 2,000 men."

Endburg stood up..."Alright gentlemen, can we get this wrapped up please? Not a bad days work." Endburg grabbed the damaged panel. "Enemy accuracy aside. This wasn't the only place the NVA struck along the DMZ. We just learned from G-2 (intelligence) that they hit the Marine FOP (Forward Observer Post) at Can Tien. The Air Force B-52's turned the land around it into a moon scape but that's not stopping "Chuck"...he's dedicated."

"We ourselves may be called in to support Can Tien because it lies on the main passage location for the NVA to get heavier supplies to their forces in the South. Loose Can Tien and the war will get even more crazy.. The Marines there are loosing an average of seven men a day...not all killed."

One pilot raised his hand. "They're calling this thing a DMZ and it's sure not a DMZ." (Demilitarized Zone)

Endburg replied. "Don't think its' different than Korea. The only reason that line is holding is because there's ocean on each end of it. Here we only have it on one side, the Vietnamese can easilly go around it through Laos and Cambodia but they need the Can Tien passage to gain a better advantage and they know we know it. The question is...are they more dedicated to throw lives away than we are to stop them."

Endburg took the last paper reports and stacked them on a table. "We'll have copies made of these for your squadron records. Get some rest gentlemen, you can expect another call soon enough."

September 25,1967

Letter to Mom...

Dear Cindy,

We've been pretty busy for the past week, I've flown 19 missions in South Vietnam supporting Marines at a base called "Can Tien" near the DMZ between South and North. We've mostly flown missions in bad weather and the dark as the enemy will move more on the base in those times than in broad daylight and our planes can hit them better without risking themselves to ground fire.

I'm very surprised how Keith is taking the separation as well as he is, from how you write it. The constant letters back and forth are probably the biggest help. I didn't know Bob's wife was such a good mechanic, then again Bob likes to brag how he married the daughter of a moonshiner and she learned to build a distillery before she left diapers. Tell her I am so thamkful of how she's kept watch over you and Keith. It makes my work easier.

We've been told that we'll pull into Cam Rah Bay next week for a few days of liberty while they stock the ship up for another long line period. We'll be working off of North Vietnam before too long; that's when things get more difficult.

When we get to Cam Rah, I'll send you and Keith some nice gifts. I heard that there's some awesome tailors there who can make some sweet silk dresses so send me your sizes and I'll have a couple made for you.

I love you Cindy and I miss the hell out of you. Keep saying those prayers with Keith at bed time. They mean the world to me.

Love...Daddad.

September 25, 1967

Ready Room 5 VA-6

1700 hours briefing for support mission over Can Tien (Khan Tee en) South Vietnam.

Marvin Long got the attention of the pilots to the map on the planning board at the front of the room..."Ok gentlemen, allow me to explain for both the unknowing and those who are new to our merry band of happy gentlemen...oh by the way please welcome Lieutenants Ronald Silver and Mark Casternaugh from the RAG in Whidbey, they are the replacements for...Casserotti and Burgess.

There was a silence until Jim Rigert smarted off..."Hi hoe and Casternuts?"

Laughter ensued. "We haven't gotten to the call signs yet there mister Rigert?"

"Well I was just pointing out the obvious Sir, I mean Silver's obvious but Casternaugh's a little more complicated." Rigert replied smirking.

"I'll "Caster" a pipe on your nuts shit head." Mark Casternaugh huffed back.

Andy chuckled. "Already making friends. That's a good start."

Marvin waved a hand..."Could we please get back to the briefing? Is that something that would be important for all of you?"

The pilots quieted down..."Now...once again for the unknowing and the newbies...what are we doing over Can Tien? Why has this spot now become between us and the "Sheps" our Marine sister squadron, the most Intruder bombed place on the planet?"

"USMC Forward Operations Base Can Tien lies five miles South of the DMZ...I don't know why they call it a DMZ so don't ask because its' not "de-milled" at all, at least the North Vietnamese don't see it like that. The Marine FOB lies on the only flat plain between North Vietnam and all the major roads in South Vietnam and the only flat plain that doesn't flood in the monsoon season...hence...wonderful tank and truck territory. Thus far, denial of this main route has been a pain in the ass to Hanoi's efforts in supplying its' forces and their important of the location is no better stated than how they have pounded the hell out of our Marines for the past two weeks. To say we're not making the NVA pay their wages in blood is an understatement. To say that they're making the Marines holding of the ground costly is also a vast understatement. Hence now we've been forced to make our first excursion into North Vietnam."

"Don't get it twisted gentlemen...even five miles over the DMZ is North Vietnam and there's as much a porcupine of steel on the DMZ as it will be when we start flying near Hanoi. On the DMZ you can expect medium caliber guns, some heavy caliber guns, a few radar guided guns and...when the North can get them there? The SA-2 Guideline Surface to Air Missile. Our task tonight is to bomb the shit out of their artillery positions North of the DMZ and it won't be easy. The Vietnamese have applied their knowledge gained from 1000 years of constant combat and from North Korean advisers who've advised them on protecting and employing artillery under air bombardment threat. We're not dealing with morons and they know the abilities of the Intruder...they respect us enough to call us "Naga" which is the mythic Vietnamese snake monster that prowls the Mekong River and kills at night without warning. Between us and the Marines it's playing slap fight and sucker punch with the NVA with blindfolds."

Marvin pulled down another map..."So we're going to specifically targeting these grid squares tonight in support of a pair of Recon Marine infiltration squads who will "CFF" (Call For Fire) in an attempt to draw the North Vietnamese into a counter-fire option that will draw their artillery pieces from their protected spots so you can waste them. You'll all be carrying four bull pup missiles for the artillery and two Shrike missiles for radars. Between the three of you going up we should get lucky tonight."

Jim Rigert raised his hand..."Bull pups at night? Begging your pardon Sir but..."Pups" are more accurate during the day...and for them to be successful we have to maintain line of sight to the target and that's gonna suck flying at night."

"Taken into account." Marvin replied. "The US Army artillery base at Gloria on hill 137 has long range guns which will pepper the target with red flares so they don't screw your vision. The difficulties are well known."

Dad raised his hand. "Sir? If we do get SA-2 radar indications? How does that effect the mission?"

Marvin replied. "You won't have any Iron Hand support so any SA-2 presence is deemed an immediate threat...Shrike it or "Pup" it but kill that bastard expedite. You can't shoot at Chucky's grunts and dodge a Sammy at the same time. Your call signs for the recon teams on the ground are "Morty Short Six" and "Ricky Ticky Four".

Mark Castinaugh raised his hand..."What kind of stupid names are those? Can't they just say "Recon one and Recon Two"?

Marvin replied. "You'll find that Central Command in Saigon picks the code names Lieutenant. It's to confound and confuse the enemy."

"Well it's got me confused and I think those people need to be piss tested for pot smoking." Castinaugh snorted. "Let's call em "Daffy" and "Goofy"

Jim Rigert snickered..."Hi Hoe and Casternuts"

"Dude?" Mark Casternaugh snapped. "Do you want me to fuck you up?"

"Bring it on sugar lips." Rigert snorted back.

Dad put himself between the potential combat. "Let's take the aggression to Chucky ok guys?"

Ron Silver walked with Dad over to where Elsberry was issuing the service side arms. "Did the Lieutenant Commander say something about SAM's?"

"Yeah." Dad replied. "When the North Vietnamese can get them that far south. Most of the time they end up firing them unguided and hope the on-board antenna in the rocket can lock on."

Ron looked at the others that were going to fly..."Anyone actually had SAM's shot at them?"

Jim Rigert raised his hand..."Just me and Marty and only once but that was guided."

"So...what do you do?" Ron asked.

"Huh?" Jim reacted as he turned around. "What do you do? Don't you know?"

"Well they instructed us on ECM and avoidance practices at the RAG but not evasion." Ron replied.

"Are you kidding me?" Jim reacted as if he couldn't believe it. "Seriously? They didn't teach evasion at RAG?"

"You said you only had it happen once to you." Ron snorted back.

"That's not the point man." Jim replied. "Oh my God...we've had like a thousand SAM's shot at people since "65" and no one's teaching evasion tactics at the RAG's? Shit, why don't they just line these poor guys up and shoot them dead before they reach their first fucking squadron? We all should write a bitch letter to the RAG command about this shit."

Dad waved his hands at Jim..."Jim? Stop the complaining crap? You're not helping Ron and the last thing we need is for him to panic when they shoot off a "Ma Bell"."

Jim looked at Ron and sighed..."Ok...I'm gonna give you the quick down and dirty from the experience of a lot of pilots on how to evade "Sammy".

Jaiden Roach gave Rigert a sink eye..."Oh my God, sea story from hell? Our newbies are gonna die...nice knowing you guys."

"Shut up moron. You need to hear this too, the skipper himself will back me on all this because I've researched it if you bothered to really do the monthly training that you claim to sign as "I did it". Jim huffed. "As I was saying...

"The S-2 Guideline aka "Ma Bell" missile can be fired two ways, active tracking and passive self-search. A self-searching missile is easy to avoid because the electronics are not that good and the missile can't make last second turns for shit which is why over Hanoi they fire them like crazy. When they shoot them under the control of a radar, like the Russian "Fan Song Two" they turn quicker and are harder to break from. That's why it's very important that you and your B/N are constantly looking. A radar guided SAM is one thing, more often than not its' the self guiding SAM's than end up killing our planes. The North Vietnamese will often fire the missiles with a lock and then cut the radar off and hope for the best so they can avoid a counter-strike by our Shrike missiles. They key to survival is know where the missile is in relation to your airplane...a guided SAM should always be taken face on just after it reaches "Arc top" or "High RPM and starts to cruise steady..."

"Take it in the nose? You mean go at it nose to nose? That's about fucken suicide." Ron said shaking his head.

"Best way to break the radar lock." Jim replied. "You wait until the last second then go sharp left or sharp right while punching chaff strips behind you. The missile will go for the chaff cloud and disregard you as the smaller target...no sweat."

"You make it sound easy." Mark Casternaugh said. "But it can't be."

"This is where the crew matters." Jim replied. "You have to work with each other, trust each other and listen to each other...especially when we start working more North than the DMZ. If you didn't learn that at RAG then you're going to have problems when you shouldn't have them. This isn't a county fair out here. My advice is to have your ears open to the radio and no small talk once you're in the assigned zone because the call you miss will be the one that get's you fucked. We lost the guys you replaced and don't think we want to see another two out here in "shit-hole-astan" get whacked for complacency."

Jim left Ron and Mark scratching their heads. "Is he always like this?" Ron asked Dad.

"He was dropped on his head too many times as a baby but yeah...you better take his advice and do what he says? Jim's one of the most reliable pilots we have out here when it comes to studying the opposition. Next to Marvin, Jim's a book sponge." Dad replied as he grabbed up his flight gear.

September 25, 1967

2200 hours

5 miles north of LZ (Landing Zone) Tacoma

six miles north of the Vietnamese DMZ

US Marine Recon Mission "Black Light"

Teams "Morty Short Six" and "Ricky Ticky Four"

Staff Sargent Ken Washio looked through the night vision "Starlight" Scope atop his M-16 rifle down into the valley floor below the rise he and his other four marines were laying upon. The same for his counterpart, Sargent Joe Asakura and his team on another rise about a mile to the East...

"R.T.4...M 6...copy?" Ken spoke into his head mike.

"Copy..." Joe replied. "I have movement below at 300 yards. Ryu (You) just signalled two clicks on my radio...charge placement proceeding. Any word from the birds?"

Ken replied. "They should be en route. ETOT (Estimated Time on Target) about twenty mikes (20 minutes). Are you seeing any gun emplacements?"

Joe replied. "None...but the activity down there is showing four possible reverse slope locations. Guess we'll have our answer once Ryu comes back. I'm still not easy with this kid we got as a guide."

"No? Jin Pei came highly regarded by the spooks in Saigon." Ken replied. "So far he's been pretty accurate as a guide and you can't doubt he hates the Cong with a passion. Could do without that finger trophy around his neck though."

"These people are bizarre." Joe replied. "I asked the kid if he wears it for good luck? He told me it was for virility."

Ken chuckled back. "Someday they'll make a pill for limp dick...call it "Vibrancy" or some catchy name."

September 25, 1967

2210 hours

Columbia strike package flight in support of "Black Light"

506 LTJG Jaiden Roach /ENS Justin Smith

510 LT Ron Silver/ LT Mark Casternaugh

508 LT Jim Riggert / LTJG Marty Millar

503 LT Kevin Sterling / LTJG Andrew Mescado

503 LT Kevin Sterling / LTJG Andrew Mescado

"Testing...Bull pup power batteries..." Andy said as he cycled through the missile power switches for the Bull Pup air to ground missiles. For most of the Vietnam War, the Bull Pup was carried by the A-4 Skyhawks and was aimed at it's target by a system tied into the pilots HUD (heads up display) which for a single seat attack plane posed a lousy dillema. In order to hit the intended target, the pilot had to fly at it to maintain the lock. The Vietnamese got wise very quickly and realized that by seeing the incoming rocket; all they had to do was aim behind it and fill the spot with lead...which usually resulted in an A-4 going "kaboom" or the pilot having to break his lock and wasting his missile.

The same fate might have fallen to the A-6 Intruder had it not been for some wiz kid science geek named Charles Cornell, a high school senior actually, who came up with a science fair project to remotely aim a hunting rifle with a patchwork headpiece that made you think charlie believed in tin foil hat wear...

Besides the teachers and judges at the school fair who saw Charlies wonderful contraption; one of the parents there worked at Raytheon Labs near Boston. The lightbulb went "poof"...as in exploded in brilliance. So did Charlie's wallet.

The result was incorporated into Andy's flight helmet...which was uncomfortable as hell to wear; even today we Veritech pilots wear something like this gadget integrated into the helmet contours and even though technology has made the device smaller? It's still an uncomfortable bitch to wear. Now the Intruder didn't have to stay "nose on" to the target and risk getting hit. The pilot could worry about flying and the B/N just had to have his face pointed to the intended victim and the Bull Pup would strike no matter what heading or angle the Intruder was at. Just says once again that you need a college education to screw stuff up and a high school education to make money...or something like that.

September 25, 1967

2215 hours

5 miles north of LZ (Landing Zone) Tacoma

six miles north of the Vietnamese DMZ

US Marine Recon Mission "Black Light"

Teams "Morty Short Six" and "Ricky Ticky Four"

Jin Pei was a 13 year old "Once" North Vietnamese before the Central Committee decided his father was too "Western" for the good of the proletariat So they imprisoned him, slit his mom's throat and threw his older sister in a brothel. That's what "Uncle Ho" deemed "responsible re-education" with peasants who showed a whisp of "Southernism" They thought that by dressing him in those fancy school clothes and that stupid red tie, they would have a loyal little soldier for the cause...instead they bread a hell child...

He got into the South almost getting his foolish butt shot off. He snuck into a forward Marine base, stole a jeep, drove to Saigon and confidently marched into the clerical office of US "CenComRepNam" and defiantly declared..."The North Vietnamese destroyed my family! I want blood God damn it!" He spilled his guts about everything and every place he knew up North then proved his point by leading a Marine LRRP (Long Range Rifle Patrol) into the DMZ where they ambushed a North Vietnamese Regiment. When Jin Pei found out the regimental commander was a prisoner...he calmly walked up and sliced the man's neck open without batting an eye..."Prisoners are problems..." he snorted. "When you kill enough Communists, then you'll have victory."

Now the small and skinny teenager was working close to the estimated division sized artillery unit dressed in only olive drab shorts, thatch work Vietnamese sandals and smelling like tiger urine...which worked well against both guard dogs and humans. No one wants to screw with a Vietnamese Tiger...no one claims to "own" the jungles of Vietnam who is not a tiger. Jin Pei just hoped it wasn't the urine of a female...that would suck.

He'd been going back and forth between "the base" where Ken Washio and Joe Asakura were and the NVA encampment, planting explosive charges which hopefully the NVA would take as incoming artillery and respond in kind; which in turn would bring bombs down upon their heads.

Meanwhile on the crest of the hill Ken Washio was parked on, his radio man tapped his shoulder..."Staff? Columbia strike package is on top." The Marine said as he passed Ken the receiver...

"Black Light Lead to Columbia Lead...copy your over head over?" Ken said.

508 LT Jim Riggert / LTJG Marty Millar

Columbia Lead

"Black Light, Columbia lead we are "hooked" what's your Sit Rep (Situation Report) over?" Jim replied.

"Columbia, Black Light...aproximate NVA artillery division strength infantry at target location. In the process of preparing deceptive operation...prepare to attack on my order, first visible detonations are ours over?" Ken Washio replied.

"Black Light, Columbia copy your Sit Rep and standing by for execution." Jim said as he switched his radio. "Ram lead to Sheep, Black Light is almost ready. First detonations will be his, attack on his call. 510 you hang with 503 descend to 15,000 feet; you will be the first inbound to the target."

503 LT Kevin Sterling / LTJG Andrew Mescado

"Rodger Ram Lead. 503 copy. Ron? You got that?" Dad called Ron Silver

510 LT Ron Silver/ LT Mark Casternaugh

"Got it. How we doing this Lieutenant?" Ron asked Dad.

503 LT Kevin Sterling / LTJG Andrew Mescado

"First goes inbound, the other guards. Then the other inbounds while the first guards. One top on SAM's, the other strike on the guns. You see a SAM, call it out and if you can...smack it with a Shrike or the Bull Pup. Keep in mind on your inbound that the terrain is hilly and if you forget that you could easily face plant a hill. Mark? Ron's counting your eyes so don't gaggle." Dad said to Ron and Mark. "And Ron? Just call me Augie or Daddy for short."

510 LT Ron Silver/ LT Mark Casternaugh

"Just call me "Hi Hoe"...it's fucken stuck anyways. Thanks Mister Riggert you prick."

508 LT Jim Riggert / LTJG Marty Millar

"Oh I did it because I love you newbie. Keep good eye for SAM's.

September 25, 1967

2235 hours

5 miles north of LZ (Landing Zone) Tacoma

six miles north of the Vietnamese DMZ

US Marine Recon Mission "Black Light"

Teams "Morty Short Six" and "Ricky Ticky Four"

Jin Pei came up behind Ryu and about scared the shit out of him. "Growl..." The teenager snickered.

"Fuck!...you little prick." The big M-60 toting Marine snapped.

"Have a pit helmet?" Jin Pei snickered as he held out an NVA helmet for Ryu.

"How the hell did you score that?" Ryu asked.

"Didn't they tell you not to piss in the jungle? Seems the NVA have similar sucky training." The boy said grinning. "Knife behind the scrotum...the pain is so intense that you can't utter a sound."

"Nice thing to know." Ryu snorted as he locked the bolt on his receiver. "You people are crazy."

"How long have you Americans been around? How long have we Vietnamese been at war? You New York people need to stay with your Yankees and pussy bars." Jin pei said as he reached for Ryu's radio...

"Black Light Leader? Woody Woodpecker's finished being a little dick. You can fuck these people up now." Jin Pei said as he reached into a bag and pulled out the clicker hand detonator to claymore mines and snapped the laid out firing lead line into the charge clip...

"You put out claymores and charges?" Ryu asked. "Shit you're stronger than I thought."

"When you hate commie dink fuckers as much as me? Hercules has competition. There's chink bastards mixed in with them too...you know we Vietnamese hate fucken Chinks. I don't know how the NVA could tolerate those dirty bastards in our country."

Claymore's were nasty weapons banned by the UN after the unification wars. They're boxes you plant which have a warning that says "Face towards enemy" plastered on one side. When detonated they send ball bearings and shrapenal into the front of anyone unlucky enough to be standing in "Face before Enemy" country...they usually end up hamburger.

Ken received the word from Jin Pei and called Joe Asakura on the other ridge. "Joe? Stand by to cut down anyone climbing up here...we go hot in five." Ken said into his radio before he changed the selector...

"Columbia this is Black Light Lead...we go hot in five minutes...what's your group loiter time over?"

"Black Light Lead, Columbia Lead...our time is 2 hours, we have room to party, ready on your call."

503 LT Kevin Sterling / LTJG Andrew Mescado

"Copy that Ram Lead...in five." Dad said as he patted Andy's shoulder. "Put a six pack in the cooler."

Andy flipped on the Bull Pup battery switch..."One in the cooler. Selecting station one, first missile...armed and ready."

Dad radioed Ron..."Ron, we are go in five so keep your eyes on the threat indicator and the ground. We're going first."

September 25, 1967

2240 hours

5 miles north of LZ (Landing Zone) Tacoma

six miles north of the Vietnamese DMZ

US Marine Recon Mission "Black Light"

Teams "Morty Short Six" and "Ricky Ticky Four

Jin Pei had the honor of twisting the detonator handle as Ken gave the word and the explosives lining the valley floor where the NVA had set up their artillery exploded in a chain of detonations that lit up the valley!

503 LT Kevin Sterling / LTJG Andrew Mescado

"There they go!" Dad said to Andy as he brought 503 into a close tight turning circle over the valley and waited for the NVA to react.

September 25, 1967

2242 hours

5 miles north of LZ (Landing Zone) Tacoma

six miles north of the Vietnamese DMZ

US Marine Recon Mission "Black Light"

Teams "Morty Short Six" and "Ricky Ticky Four

"We got flurries." Ken Washio said into his radio as he watched the NVA and the Chinese supporting troops scrambling around the valley floor thinking they were under an artillery strike. To add a little more emphasis to their situation...Jin Pei set off a set of claymores close to the clearing below and a score of soldiers got chewed apart from the death cone of flying shrapenal that tore into them!

"Come on...show me what you got Charlie." Ken snorted as he watched a gang of soldiers pulling on a thick rope...

"And out comes a cannon!" Ken said as he reached for his radio..."Columbia Lead, Black Light...pipes are coming out! We will deploy flares...mark and kill...deploying flares...Mark and kill over?"

"Rodger your flare call Black Light...Mark and kill." Jim Riggert replied from above.

Ken flipped his radio..."Joe! Flare up now! The guns are coming out!"

Joe Asakura dropped his radio, snatched up a LAW anti-tank rocket tube with a flare shot in it, extended the tube to full length and shot a rocket over the top of the valley!

" **KAFOOM!"**

The Vietnamese and Chinese communist soldiers looked like rats who suddenly had the garage lights flipped onto their faces...

Ken flipped his radio again..."Columbia, Black light, Target reference, Grid One, South East corner, Over 50 yards, down 20 yards, Heavy Gun over!"

503 LT Kevin Sterling / LTJG Andrew Mescado

Dad threw the stick and rudder around and flipped 503 on her back so he could see the whole Valley below..."Got it! Stepping into attack! 503 in hot run from 15,000 feet!" Dad rolled 503 back around and plunged it for the valley "dead weight" having chopped his throttles to zero and popped the speed brakes on the wing tips.

"Got one boss!" Andy snapped..."Hold...hold...hold...12,000 feet...hack!"

Dad depressed the trigger switch on the front of his stick and the first Bull Pup screamed off the launch rail on the wing and corkscrewed past the cockpit! Dad and Andy had to close their eyes to prevent the flash of the rocket motor from blinding them. So long as Dad maintained his course...Andy's helmet system would keep the missile true to target...

"Flash out...turning...turning...you still got it?" Dad asked as he banked the Intruder into a tight orbital turn above the target towards Andy's side of the plane...

"Still got it boss...Missile is true..." Andy replied.

"Ram lead inbound hot!" Jim Riggert called out on the radio.

Suddenly a warble alarm went off in the cockpit..."Beedle...beedle...beedle..."

Dad scanned the threat detector and listened to how the alarm sounded. Different radar gave off different tones...

"Still got it boss...Missile is true..." Andy continued to say as he tracked the Bull Pup's flight.

Dad called Ron Silver..."Ron! I have a ZSU radar gun down there..."

"ZSU Aye! Stepping into attack!" Ron replied.

"Hack!" Jim Riggert's voice cracked. He'd just popped off another Bull Pup...

"Strike" Andy snapped! Dad's Bull Pup slammed it's 500 pound warhead into the artillery piece producing a flowering yellow explosion below...

"Pulling out...8,000 feet!" Dad snapped. "Salt and pepper coming up from the ZSU!"

Dad pulled up into a climb as Ron flew under his belly...

510 LT Ron Silver/ LT Mark Casternaugh

"Do you got it?" Ron asked Mark as he watched the radar screen on his side...

"Steady...8,000...7,000...HACK!" Mark snapped. Ron pulled his trigger and closed his eyes as the Shrike missile flew past his canopy. "Up and out to the right!" He spoke into the radio as Jim Rigget's voice sounded..."BLAM! Dead Gun!"

The anti-radar Shrike followed the beam of the offending radar array transmitter down to the source, which was a set of four 20 millimeter guns mounted guns mounted on a battle tank chassis. The Shrike wouldn't do much damage to the tank but when it exploded close enough...it shredded the radar set, which left the tank blind and the guns almost useless.

503 LT Kevin Sterling / LTJG Andrew Mescado

Dad topped at 18,000 feet and rolled the Intruder again on it's back. By now the NVA soldiers were running their butts off to get away from the guns they had pulled from hiding and were shooting wildly in the air or scrambling up the side of the rise upon which the Black Light Marines had posted themselves...

September 25, 1967

2249 hours

5 miles north of LZ (Landing Zone) Tacoma

six miles north of the Vietnamese DMZ

US Marine Recon Mission "Black Light"

Teams "Morty Short Six" and "Ricky Ticky Four"

Ryu heard Ken on his radio..."Some of them are scrambling up the hill towards us people...stand by!"

Jin pei tapped Ryu and wiggled the claymore detonator in his small hand. "Wait for what? Happy Birthday Chinks and Dinks!" Jin Pei mashed the clicker switch three times and a row of Claymores below blasted their deadly contents into a line of NVA soldiers, chopping them into screaming meat...

"Shit! We should let this kid run the damn war!" Ryu snarled as he cut loose with his M-60 into the darkness below his position. "Hope you got more of those kid because there's a lot more of them coming!"

"I'm just starting." Jin Pei snickered as he hit his clicker again and set off another set of claymores...

503 LT Kevin Sterling / LTJG Andrew Mescado

"Got another Boss!" Andy snapped as he flipped through his switches. "Pup out of the pen! Target aquired!"

"Rolling in! 503 in hot!" Dad snapped as he rolled the Intruder into attack. Another explosion below signaled another gun had been hit. "Our gun Andy?"

"No Boss...stay fixed...12,000 feet...11,000 feet...HACK!"

Dad mashed the trigger and another Bull Pup flew off the rail towards its' target. Just then a white streak came flying over the canopy from below...

"Fuck!" Andy snapped. "Unguided SA-2! SAM! SAM!"

510 LT Ron Silver/ LT Mark Casternaugh

"I'm looking Daddy..." Ron said into his radio. "Son of a bitch radar is shut down. Mark?"

"The smoke trail's blowing away to the East, the bastard has to be parked down to the west...I'd say about five miles." Mark Casternaugh replied.

Ron flipped his radio so everyone could catch it. "We're going to orbit and see if we can smoke the fucker out, get him to turn on his radar or shoot another at us."

Jim Riggert's voice snapped back. "Silver? Let me handle it."

"Experience is the best teacher Sir." Ron replied. "Keep going for the guns. Mark put a Shrike and Pup in the pen...bring it you little weasel dicked cock sucker. Come get the nice fat ugly airplane?"

Mark snickered. "I've teamed up with a sadist."

"They'll call me a SAM Hugh Heffener when this is over." Ron slowed his Intruder and rolled slowly around to the left..."These guys are good." Ron snorted.

"It's dark." Mark replied. "It's not going to be easy for them to see us with the radar shut down."

Ron reached out and flipped the aircraft lights on! "Now do you think they get the hint?"

"Cheese man...you are fricken insane." Mark snorted.

September 25, 1967

2255 hours

5 miles north of LZ (Landing Zone) Tacoma

six miles north of the Vietnamese DMZ

US Marine Recon Mission "Black Light"

Teams "Morty Short Six" and "Ricky Ticky Four"

Another flare rocket shot from a launcher tube and lit off over the valley as another Bull Pup connected with a 110 artillery piece and blew it into the air!

Mark Washio spoke into his radio..."Black Light...extricate, extricate, extricate...withdraw to prep station one out!" He flipped his switch and called up to Jim Riggert..."Columbia Lead this is Black Light...we are extricating South, maintain your pressure and roll it South 100 yards on my call! Do you have stores to cover?"

"We have available Black Light. Will roll what we have south 100 yards off the valley on your command." Jim Riggert replied.

508 LT Jim Riggert / LTJG Marty Millar

Columbia Lead

"Ram Lead to sheep...Black Light is extricating south. Keep what you have and we'll roll it 100 yards south of the valley floor on my command. Lieutenant Silver? Are you still trying to coax that SAM launcher?"

510 LT Ron Silver/ LT Mark Casternaugh

"Ma Bell is refusing to answer our call...the bitch." Ron snorted. "I'm gonna get that launcher, he's making this personal now."

503 LT Kevin Sterling / LTJG Andrew Mescado

"Ron? Don't turn this personal. The guys manning that site aren't morons." Dad said.

"And if we turn our tails on them, they'll get the shot they want. Let's see if their dicks can outgrow their body size..."

Just then, an SA-2 missile blasted from its' launcher rail and punched through the tree canopy towards 510! "GOT IT!" Andy snapped as he reached for the Bull Pup switches and set another missile on the pickle..."Swing boss! I'll tell you when to stop!"

510 LT Ron Silver/ LT Mark Casternaugh

"FUCK!" Ron yelled into his mask as he cranked the throttles to full power, turned off the lights and put the Intruder into a corkscrew dive for the ground. "Mike! You see it!"

Mike turned his head to the left just as the SA-2 flew past the Intruder from right to left...once of the control fins on the missile slashed through the honeycomb composite cap of the vertical stabilizer before it flew out of control and exploded 50 yards off 510's tail!

503 LT Kevin Sterling / LTJG Andrew Mescado

"Swing it! Swing it! Swing it!"..."Right there!"..."Chew on this ass hole! HACK!"

Dad hit the trigger and a Bull PuP screamed off the right wing outer station, connected with the SAM launcher and caused multiple bursts of exploding missiles to flower out of the jungle canopy...

"Ron? You alright?" Dad called.

"A little wet...my B/N more than me I think but we're alright. I think the tail got hit by the rocket though." Ron replied as Dad came up on his plane from behind...

"Yeah...got the cap of your vertical stab...it's toast. Not a smart move on your part but you did bag the launcher. I'm sure Riggert will ride you when we get home."

September 26,1967

After action report by Lieutenant James Riggert USN

VA-6 USS Columbia flight "Black Light."

involved aircraft and Crews:

503 LT Kevin Sterling / LTJG Andrew Mescado

506 LTJG Jaiden Roach /ENS Justin Smith

508 LT Jim Riggert / LTJG Marty Millar

510 LT Ron Silver/ LT Mark Casternaugh

Mission: Assigned Air Asset Support to US Marine Ground Recon unit conducting operations to draw out North Vietnamese artillery unit north of the Vietnamese DMZ

Flight Commanders Statement: The attack began at 2240 hours VNT with the Marine recon unit setting off explosive charges to draw the enemy into a percieved counter-battery artillery response. We had four good aircraft with good systems employing both AGM Bull Pup missiles and AGM Shrike missiles against artillery emplacements, one mobile anti-aircraft gun and one SA-2 unguided SAM site. Two SA-2 missiles were launched against the flight, the missile launcher being taken out after the second attempt. The second SA-2 did minor damage to one aircraft. A second aircraft took fragmentation damage to the underside of the left and right engine compartments as it was out of safety altitude from uncalculated slip rate decent and had fallen into the lethal blast radius of the launched Bull Pup. No serious damage was done to the aircraft.

BZ (Bravo Zulu) to Lieutenants Ron Silver and Mark Castenaugh in aircraft 510 for maintaining suppression on the single SA-2 Site thus reducing their effective involvement in the action and for Lieutenants Kevin Sterling and Andrew Mescado for swift eradication of the threat site. The operation resulted in the destruction of five enemy artillery guns and the loss of as of yet unknown numbers of personnel. The Marine recon unit extricated to their LZ and were removed without casualties. All information was turned over to G-2 for further commitment by Air Force assets if so desired.

Signed Lieutenant James Riggert

October 3,1967

Dad writes home...

Dear Cindy...

We're leaving Dixie Station for a brief visit to the Philippines prior to our heading north into what's called "Indian Country" or "Yankee Station" off North Vietnam. We're going to be training for about two weeks using the Philippine Islands and their military as "stand in's" so we can be ready to do missions near Hanoi.

We're ok, Andy and myself and the others, and this coming break is well deserved. We've really put the hurt on the North Vietnamese in the South but I wonder if you're seeing this stuff back home? We've been hearing things that make it sound like we're not doing anything at all except dropping bombs... some of the people out here are getting upset and wondering who the news media back home is supporting.

I got to meet Chett Huntley of NBC News and TV producer Jack Webb, they came out here to make parts of a film they want to show in the theaters back home. Mister Webb told us he wants to counter those who claim the communists are all "peace loving" Well we've seen films taken fresh out of some of the villages the Communist claimed they "pacified" in the South just short of the DMZ...it makes some of us pilots wonder why the hell LBJ is such a pussy ass coward. The way these people run the war it's a wonder we ever "broke even" in Korea.

Other than that Cindy...you do whatever your heart desires with the house and the decorations; go crazy ; ) XXXXXX anything you do turns out awesome.

I promise, I'll be a good boy when we stop for liberty...church mouse as always...

Huggies

Daddad.

Mom writes Dad...

Dear Kevin...

Yesterday...Julia Gonzalez who lives next to us got a visit from "The car"...you

know what that is. Her Husband Julio was reported Missing in Action over North Vietnam with VA-115 off the USS Midway; shot down somewhere near Hanoi. It's the third loss for VA-115 in a month. If you wanted to verify how the media is treating Vietnam...well...ugly truth...it always seems to be negative on ABC, CBS and NBC...I got so sick of watching the news on television, I don't bother any more. Even Cronkite seems like a complete America hater...every minute he's on television it's casualty counts, village torching and bombing innocent people. He makes the North Vietnamese sound like the nice old man across the street and he blatantly hides the fact that the guys a sicko.

The college protests are getting ugly, Governor Reagan in California had to call out the state guard after some students torched the local ROTC building on Berkeley's Campus. That's where my younger sister is going for her Masters in art. Do you know what she said to me last week? "How can you stand being married to a baby killer?" I swear I was going to get on a plane and kick her damned teeth in.

Honestly Kevin...no one is getting the right story about Vietnam over here and if someone tries to tell it in one of the big newspapers? They get fired or "re-assigned" because the editors or someone didn't like what was written. But it seems the opinion of President Johnson is universal...worse than a class moron.

I don't know how Keith does it? He's so oblivious to it all. We see those cars come and go a few times a week. I explained it to him once and it was like "Meh...legos." I swear kids have coping systems...when did we lose em?

Please...please...please...be safe Kevin, I beg you please.

With tons of kisses

your Cinnimon pop tart

P.S...I'm pregnant!

You think Dad didn't topple over? He slipped off the ready room chair in the middle of a briefing and yelped. "My wife's Preg! Cindy's Pregnant! WOOOO WHOOO!"

The skipper stood smirking. "Congrats Daddy, stop throwing coffee spit on everyone and sit the fuck down?" He said pointing.

Andy caught Dad by his shirt. "No fooling?"

Dad showed him mom's letter..."Hehehehe...preggers."

"Congrats Boss." Andy said smiling. "Got the names yet?"

"Oh yeah." Dad said. "We had them planned before the next "Session:..."

So my birth in Dad's eyes was "A session" that's what he said to me when it was time for me to "learn things"...it's not "sex" it's "a session". I told that to Mirya and she went around telling people of the "wonderful session" we had and how "session" was the greatest thing since sliced bread. No wonder she looked ticked off when she came back home one time and asked me to explain "session" to her. Zentradi women do not take being embarrassed well.

"So if it's a girl? Belinda after Cindy's grandmother. If it's a boy? Maximilian...just because Maximilian Sterling sounds super cool like James Bond. Give the kid a great start."

Andy snickered. "What if he turns out to be more of a Paul Lynn?"

"I'll put him back in for another 8 months and demand a refund?" Dad replied.

"Mister Sterling? May I continue please?" the Skipper demanded.

"Sorry Sir." Dad replied.

"So..." Charlie Saffell said at his podium up front. "That does it for the plans for the next few weeks. As you know once again or if you have not heard? Vietnamese Premier Chun Loi...just say Uncle Ho because Chun Loi isn't anything but a pair of lips, Chun Loi rejected another peace overature from President Johnson so Robert MacNamara and the powers that be have called from Rolling Thunder...what's the number now? 18? 29? 666? Called another Rolling Thunder to put more pressure on North Vietnam which means bombing will increase until the Vietnamese get another truce. That being said? Mister Elsberry? Will you please leave the ready room and kindly lock the door?"

The Skipper watched Elsberry leave and waited a few minutes. "So...with our future plans to involve North Vietnam, I want the laundry to air right now. I know bad things are hard to keep from people, I am as much aware of the growing chaos at home as you are or at least some of you. I want to hear your thoughts, your concerns, your opinions. I will try my best to help you understand and to stay focused on us getting done so we can all go home. I won't hide shit from you...our Sister squadron on the Midway is catching hell. VA-115 has lost four aircrews and every plane is coming back fucked up in one shape or another. Defenses over Hanoi and Haiphong have gotten stronger and I will not hide it from you my opinion of one Robert S. McNamara...he is a stupid mother fucker as I have ever known stupid mother fuckers and he's getting pilots killed or captured.

I"s there anyone here...any of you right now...who does not understand what's going on in Southeast Asia? What will happen if the North Vietnamese get their hands on South Vietnam? Anyone doubt what's going on in Cambodia or Laos? Anyone at all have any reservations? After all we all got to spend time with mister Jack Webb and Chett Huntley and right now they're probably the only two people in all of American media who understand the situation properly and report all the pros and cons. It's not the fight that's the problem here gentlemen, it's how it's being and has been waged and the people who claim they run it. Trust me, the Joint Chiefs of Staff think Johnson and McNamara are clueless gutless bastards. Another thing that works against us is the ARVN and the topography, this is seriously not like Korea though you can't tell the South Koreans fighting in South Vietnam; The ARVN starts running and the only thing that keeps things from going right to hell is that the South Koreans don't run and Charlie is avoiding those people like the black death. The South Vietnamese government isn't a bunch of darlings and they certainly are not "the founding fathers" but they're all between a messed up Southeast Asia and one that's almost red and threatens Thailand and if Thailand goes?

The bottom line gentlemen is that the American people can change their leaders every four years and if the people are properly informed, they tend to make good choices. Till they give us a man with more sense and a ton of guts to be Commander in Chief and conduct the war as it should be? We are at the whims and wills of policy so I did not tell you to write home and tell the truth, you didn't hear that from me explicitly, I did NOT tell you to write home and tell the truth...Just so we are clear?"

"Dismissed...We dock in Cubi Point tomorrow afternoon."

The officers broke from the meeting and stood talking in small groups, the subject of the war being front and center of most of them. Dad was huddled in a corner with Ron Silver, Kenny Keyes, Andy Hoover and Justin Smith...

"You know what gets me about all this?" Ensign Smith said scratching his head. " everybody thinks the commies are all the same like some sie cast stamp toy you get from a factory. You know they absolutely hate each other with a passion right?"

"Who?" Andy asked.

"The Chinese and the Vietnamese. Absolutely hate each other. The Loatians hate the Vietnamese and the Chinese. The Cambodians hate the Chinese, Detest the Laotians and want to cook the Vietnamese for dinner. Everyone hates the Siamese, the Siamese hate the Burmese, the Burmese and the Siamese hate the Chinese...it's a fucked up rice bowl of angry hate so who's to say if South Vietnam felll that like five years later everyone in the region is killing everyone else because some Laotian farmer stole some Vietnamese farmers daughter and blamed the theft on the Cambidian pig who was a spy for Mao?"

"That's why we're trying to hold onto South Vietnam." Kenny snorted. "So we don't get shut out of lucritive venture capitalism; the whole war's a big racket for the superpowers, we don't bomb Haiphong because if we allow the Russians a little wiggle room to make cash, we won't end up fighting them." Kenny snickered. "I studied world economics at WSU."

"You can get a degree in toilet cleaning at WSU." Dad snorted. "Did you guys read the latest Stripes? Bob Hope's coming to Vietnam with Ann Margret for Thanksgiving."

"You're shitting me?" Ron asked.

"No...seriously." Dad replied. "A Seventh Fleet visit is in order. Maybe we'll get lucky and see Ann Margret in the flesh?"

"If I got to see Ann Margret? I would die happy." Justin said smiling. "Or Rachell Welsh."

"Jane Fonda." Ron said. "But she's ben banned from the USO by Bob Hope himself. Claims she's "un-American". I dunno...I've heard some of what she says...well actually my little brother Terry sent me a write she did on our history in Vietnam from 1919 to now? I didn't know we supported Ho Che Minh in World War II?"

"Damn...anyone who fought Hitler or Tojo was our pal." Kenny said. "Look at Uncle Joe Stalin? Worse butcher than Hitler by far. Uncle Ho was OUR guy until we let the French back into Vietnam after the war and all because he was a socialist and his people killed one of the OSS operatives by accident and Truman wanted his head on a stick. But no way we can let South Vietnam fall no matter how messed up they are so now we're all stuck here playing "half ass, grab ass" poker because LBJ has no nuts. But get Richard Nixon in the White House and we'll turn North Vietnam into the world's smoothest parking lot in five days, mark my words. The war will be over and done...and our reputation with it."

"Wow...get on that soap box William Jennings Bryant!" Dad joked. "You make it as if we should just face facts and quit Kenny?"

"We can't quit Daddy...no way can we let South Vietnam fall so the Russians get access to two of the biggest military bases in the Southwest Pacific, fuck...no. If we pull out and don't nuke Cam Rah Bay or Tan Su Naugh into irradiated piles of junk; the threat the Russians can park in Asia and the Indian Ocean from Vietnam would damn well provoke a wider war in the future...I guarentee you. No...we have to force Ho Che Minh to quit like we forced the North Koreans to quit then we have to build a wall around South Vietnam, park some nukes and dare them to get froggy. That my friend will bring peace."

"Or prolong the problem until the nukes start flying." Justin replied. "Look...I dunno about you guys but I'm tired of politics. I'm going to get some sleep and dream about my most desired fantasy on the beaches of Subic Bay...Out-ah...Bootah."


	6. Chapter 6

The Fighting Augies

My Dad in the Vietnam War

 **By Maximillian Sterling**

 **Chapter SIX**

September 23, 1967

VA-6 Advanced flight

 **Cubi Point Naval Air Station**

 **Republic of the Philipines**

 **10am**

503's wheels touched down on the single strip runway at Cubi Point Naval Air Station which was part of the larger U.S. Military Facility called "Subic Bay" or "Subic" to most of the Sailors and Marines who were living on the sprawling complex or out in the Bareos and side streets of Olongapo or Angeles Cities outside of Subic's main gate. This was America's largest military base in the Western Pacific region and to Sailors and soldiers who happened to pass through this paradise of tropical delights...it was "the" (quotes for accent) "the" biggest whore house in all the world and by far on the cheep. A man could get drunk, laid and have just about every desire of wickedness he wanted for under 5 American dollars. No where caused higher rates of divorce, adultery and ruined marriages than what lay beyond gates, over the shit river bridge and on the main drag and side streets of Olongapo City and nearby Angeles...

But as far as I know? Dad was a boy scout who watched everyone else's back while they screwed things up getting themselves screwed. As the plane rolled to a stop, Sandy dropped the boarding ladders and climbed up to get Dad and Andy's flight bags and right off the bat Dad knew Sandy had been tripping the lights fantastic...

"How much sleep have you gotten since you got here with the advanced crew Sandy?" Dad asked the plane captain as his baggy eyes showed evident sleep depravity...

"What's sleep?" Sandy snickered.

"Cheese...please tell me you used protection and didn't catch the clap (clap=STD) Sandy?"

"I haven't been with any girls yet Sir." Sandy replied.

"You fucken liar." Andy snorted. "I'm shocked Sandy. Lying to your superiors like this? What the fuck is wrong with you Sailor?"

"Honest Sir! I haven't touched a girl yet." Sandy said as he watched Dad and Andy climb down and held out a pair of beers to them. "I haven't."

"Resorting to bribery now you disobedient shit?" Andy snickered. "Daddy? You need to flog your plane captain."

Dad asked Sandy. "So what have you exactly been doing for two days Sandy?"

Sandy looked around and timidly gave Dad a piece of paper from the local Olongapo Police...

"Indecency in public. Command notified." The paper read...

"What...the...hell?" Dad's eyes shot out as he read the sheet. "Are you kidding me?" Dad passed the paper to Andy...

"Holy...shit! You? You did this? This isn't an act?" Andy asked.

"No Sirs." Sandy said shaking his head. "That's why I'm here...I'm on restriction to base till the XO talks to me..."

Dad shook his head. "My God Sandy...do you know what a hotel is? The public park fountain?"

"She was a real nice girl Sir...not an Olongapo whore. I met her at a restaurant, you know, Caroline's Grill on Kalinti Street? That one? Well...one thing led to another thing and we sort of lost our minds and ended up in the public fountain at 2am...and...a cop showed up?"

Andy blew his beer all over Dad's flight bag..."Oh my fucken GAWD! The XO's going to piss his pants with this one! (laughter) the last one anyone would ever think could pull this is Sandy!"

"You blew beer on my bag idiot!" Dad snapped, he then turned on Sandy "This isn't funny! How dare you destroy my trust with this detestable display of debauchery you little shit bag! Gawd damn it you made my B/N piss his pants and ruin my flight bag with your indiscretion! You brought shame to your parents...look at me and stop laughing you miserable little sick monster!"

Sandy shook in his shoes...he actually thought Dad was serious. "I want to know one thing from you Mister...one thing and you better be truthful to me or so help me as the gawd of naval aviation is my witness I will fucking kill you!"

Sandy gulped..."Sir?"

"Was she worth the fuck?" Dad said quietly.

"She was Sir...she was worth a hundred fucks in one shot." Sandy replied.

"That concludes today's ass chewing." Dad snorted. "Don't do it again. I'll talk to the XO and get this covered up."

Dad walked away with Andy and slapped him off the head. "You owe me a new flight bag ass hole!"

"Screwing a girl in the public park fountain in Olongapo..." Andy snickered.

"Like that's number 356 or 2,900? At least he wasn't doing something more stupid. I'd hate to see this brought up as an international incident." Dad remarked as he and Andy entered a Quanset hut off the Cubi Point flight line and ran into Reno Takahashi walking out with a tool bag in his hand...

"Reno?" Dad asked. "My VDI course pointer is jerking around like a jelly bean, can you check it out? Oh by the way congrats on getting promoted to second class...good on you."

"Thanks Mister Sterling." Reno replied. "I uh...decided to buck a family trend and put in my application for OCS."

"Well go on you." Dad remarked. "Being an officer is not such a bad deal, you'll find out. Good on you Reno."

John Mackee walked in followed by his B/N Ken Whitaker..."Yo roomie? You going out into "Po City" tonight?"

"Not that quick." Dad replied. "Me and Andy are going over to the Cubi O'Club to get a steak lunch, you guys want to tag and bag?"

"Cool." John replied. "Why not? By the way? The squadron is getting two A-6B Iron Hand birds from the states. Skipper wants to have three crews qualified on them. You guys feel froggy?"

Andy asked as the four officers climbed into a Filipino "Jeepnee" A world war II willies jeep cut and lengthened into a stretch taxi and decorated with all kinds of crazy colors, lights and trinkets. "What's different about the A-6B?"

"It's designed to be a SAM and "triple A" killer. Tells you where a radar is, what kind of signal it puts out then counter-jams it and carries the weapons to kill them. Best thing about Iron Hand is that you seldom work with other planes and the missions are mostly at night supporting the bombers. And the "Bees" are deadly accurate at long range over 20 miles with the Shrikes. VA-115 up North has had some success around Haiphong with their two B's but they were first run models, we're getting the new Phase 2 with a stronger jamming set-up. Me and Ken already volunteered.

Dad nodded. "Andy, if you don't have a problem with having Ma Bell pointed at you on purpose?"

"No." Andy replied. "Your insanity has been well documented so why fight it?"

The Jeepnee drove up an inclined road and passed by a sign marked "JEST" before entering the housing and living areas of Cubi Point...

"Oh yeah? We're all going to JEST before going back to Nam. You'll love JEST...how to find strange and interesting wildlife, kill them and be Tarzan of the Two Step snakes in North Vietnam..."Unk Tantor, The VC are coming you stupid fat pachyderm!" I bet old Edger didn't imagine Tarzan in Vietnam. We're not fighting the Viet Cong, we're fighting chain smoking silver backs from the Bogani ape tribe"

"What's JEST? Ken Whitaker asked as he scooped a slop of chew tobacco into his mouth.

"Damn Ken? How much Scoll do you dip everyday? A six pack?" Andy asked with a smirk. "Dude? Your fricken jaw is going to rot right the hell off one of these days."

"It keeps me regular." Ken snorted back.

"And now you know why Ken never catches the clap in Po City." John snickered. "No whore wants to sleep with a "backo dumpster". JEST is Jungle Evasion and Survival Training. We play in the wonderful and hot Filipino jungle with the local Negreto tribesmen. If you didn't think there were a thousand uses for a bull python, these people will make believers out of you for sure. Snake plus improvised paddle plus bullet up the snakes ass makes instant sniper rifle...no shit. What did you think Paul Polsen beer was? Fermented Water Oxen piss."

Dad pointed at Andy. "My mission during this in port time is to get my B/N laid. The cherry stink is getting old."

"Like hell I'm gonna catch the clap from some hooker boss." Andy snorted.

"You...have no say in the matter." Dad snorted. "You will not last six hours when you spy the first beauty of the orient my friend. I expect you to be as gloriously stupid as Sandy was. But don't worry...old boy scout Kevin will see you make it back to the bed in one piece."

"Well you better have fun tonight my friends because after tonight we're not on vacation, we have a lot of flying to do and the B-Truders will be here on deck by tomorrow night, that's when the training begins." John said as he sipped his beer. "Oh I almost forgot. As assistant morale officer, I am required by higher authority to extort money from you gentlemen so we can contribute to minor delinquency at the squadron party tonight at Madam Cherry's Bar so pony up the cash if you would?"

"I always like to contribute to delinquency." Dad said as he threw a hundred dollars into John's uniform hat.

Marty Millar popped in another hundred. "Do you think we can run Po City dry of booze?"

"Not likely." Andy said as he popped in...a twenty?

"Hey?" Dad said. "John said "pony up" not "miniature horse up"

"I'm not a married guy so I don't get the extra cash you get in your paycheck boss. Twenty is sufficient, there's not law demanding I tithe to support insanity. Fist fighting and adultery."

"I respect this man." Dad said with a smirk. "True to his august Catholic Principles.

"I'm Protestant you cretin." Andy replied. "Don't you swear at me."

John chuckled. "Honestly...I don't believe in god...then again...I don't believe in much of anything but I do believe in the pleasure of pussy. That! I believe in...which is why I will now go forth heroically to prepare for the party and with the left over money? Commit grand larceny to pound some girl and leave a little part of me for posterity. Good day...you silly lookin mother fuckers."

Finishing their lunch, Dad, Andy and Marty went walking through upper Cubi till Dad realized he needed to do something while he was "In town".

"Hey...I have to visit someone while we're here so if you guys don't mind? I'll catch you out at Madam's tonight." Dad said as he excused himself and went searching for a building. Took him a while till he found it...

" **CENTNAVAIRFOCSA"**

Central Naval Air Forces Command South Asia. Dad walked through the front door and stopped at the watch desk...

"Do you know if Captain Dixon is in?" Dad asked the desk watch.

"Yes he is Sir." The Sailor replied. "You need to see him?"

"Yes...tell him "skippy" is here."

Captain Chandler Dixon, Ben's Dad. Mister Dixon and my Dad went way back together. I know I said that Dad wasn't a good Catholic a few chapters back. Did I also mention he had a juvie record a mile long and that most of that was being Chandler's "toadie"?

Every bully has a toadie...I mean who hasn't seen the "Christmas Story" on television with Ralphie's nemesis right? He had a toadie. Butch from Little Rascals had a toadie. Dad was Chandler's toadie and trouble followed them like the plauge. Lucky for dad juvie records vanish by age 18 or he'd never be a naval officer. Dad was an only child and he looked up to Chandler because Chandler was a street tough and Dad? As a kid he was a bit of a dorky wimp but hooking up to a bully for a toadie is a good thing...no one beats you up.

Chandler joined the Navy years before Dad and got up in rank quick because he was bull built and bull headed and the bully/toadie relationship didn't vanish between Chandler and Dad. One of the reasons Dad did so well in the Navy is because Chandler was pulling strings in the background. It's something very common in the service...you think I didn't reciprocate with Chandler's son Ben? If I didn't...Mister Dixon would probably have come to kick my butt and Dad would be scolding me while he was doing it.

Dad came through the office door and popped to a salute. "Sir...I hope I'm not distracting you?"

"Cut that shit out Skippy?" Chandler said as he walked up and gave Dad a hug. "When did you get in? I heard the Columbia was inbound but I didn't know you got early det?"

"Wanted to keep it a surprise." Dad replied. "Been a while and you haven't called or written me Chan Chan, what the hell?"

"Busy as hell." Chandler replied. "Professional and personal. I should have called you.. I'm a daddy."

"Well congrats." Dad replied. "Cin Cin is pregs."

"Your second?" Chandler asked as he sat at his desk and pulled out a picture. "Meet Benjamin Brian Dixon. Came in at 8 pounds 20 ounces"

Dad smiled. "Holy shit...this kid's gonna be a tank." He then sat scratching his head. "Naval War College..."

"What of it?" Chandler asked. "You want to fast track in the Navy? You need the NWC on your resume. I know two of the senior instructors, when your tour on Columbia is done... you'll be all set up to go."

Dad rubbed his chin. "I'd like to have more flight experience under my belt first."

Chandler shook his head..."You don't need more flight experience. More flight experience means another tour over Vietnam. You don't need more flight experience."

"You're trying to get me out of the war?" Dad asked.

"No..." Chandler replied with a sigh..."Your dad is."

That was a shock to Dad's face. Grand dad in letters and calls sounded so supportive of what America was trying to do in Vietnam; most of the oldest retired and not yet retired officers spoke supportive of the effort even if they had problems with the leadership's policy steering.

"My father? Did you talk to him?" Dad asked Chandler.

"Hmph...I've had nothing but an earful from your Dad. He's meeting with other officers to organize an anti-war group back home...I for one totally agree. We're done waiting for LBJ to change...your Dad wants me to make sure you do one tour and one tour only."

Dad clenched a fist..."Here he goes again, trying to steer what I will do vice what I want to do...you know Chan Chan...it was great when we were kids that you protected me and fixed things for me but not now...I want to make my own way and have the chips fall by my own hands as a result of my work..."

Chandler rubbed his hands together..."Has it occurred to you how fucked up things are in Vietnam? The number of times we keep bombing the same shit over and over again, the same stupid missions that keep ripping planes apart and dropping guys into the Hanoi Hilton? The idiotic restrictions? It's stupidity bordering on treason. What the fuck am I supposed to tell your mother if you get shot down over Hanoi or worse get killed over some spot we've made worse that the surface of the moon and for what? So that ass hole LBJ can score votes next year? A lot of us are ready to tell that Texas fucktard and the D.C. dick wipers to go screw themselves and that's a fact."

Dad groaned..."I never thought I'd hear treason come out of the lips of my best friend."

"It's not treason to tell your government when its' fucking shit up." Chandler replied. "Skippy? Can I still call you Skippy?"

"Sure...fucktard." Dad replied smiling.

"I don't want you putting your life in danger for a bunch of zoot suit cock suckers in Washington. I'm doing it because of your Dad, God knows I owe the old man a lot for beating my head on right in high school. I...I would just be torn to hell if you didn't come back. Please...please...promise me you will be seriously careful if you get assigned to go up North?" Chandler said as he squeezed Dad's shoulders. "Otherwise I'll have to put out applications for a new toad and the pickings these days suck."

"Of course...after all my new kid's going to need a godfather with miserable hygiene, poor people skills and fire setting tendencies. My first son is turning out to be normal."

Chandler laughed. "Get out of here and get drunk you miserable little shit. I warn you, I will have you flying a COD before you get back to the Columbia. I will find a way to get you out of the war."

"And then I'll have to come back here and beat the fuck out of you...off the record of course Captain." Dad snickered.

"Bring it you little shit head." Chandler snorted back.

 **Olongapo City**

 **Evening**

Everyone in the military counted trips over "shit river bridge" outside the main gate of Subic Bay Naval Base as "Missions"...they even had patches made for the number of times if you topped 25 or 50 or 100 successful times you left and came back without a cut, scratch or bullet in some part of your body...mostly the ass if you pissed off the local constables. Hence why Dad walked over the bridge with a paper bag in his hand and stopped at one of the many small "police boxes" just before he entered the center street or "Main drag" of sex Disneyland Asia...Magsaysay Drive.

The Filipino cop behind the desk looked more like a Mexican bandit than a cop with the two strings of shotgun bandleaders draped around his body...

"Evening Moses." Dad said as he held out the bag.

"Oh fuck! Kevin!" Moses Mandolin replied as he stood up and took the gift. "How you doin Kabu-yan?" (Kabu-yan – good friend)

Once you make a Filipino a friend? The whole family is in your debt. Moses Mandolin was dad's friend because Granddad years back took Moses's father in as a personal clerk when he was stationed in the Philippines after World War II. Granddad's generous support of the family, where most local Filipinos made next to nothing but lower than dirt poverty, kept Moses sisters out of the whore houses and got him college which he used to become a cop and now he was running the whole Olongapo district constabulary. As Dad's contact, the gifts he brought were a sort of down-payment protection to help keep members of the squadron out of trouble. Hence the notebook full of names also included in the bag...

"Hats, patches and belt buckles." Dad said as he gave Moses the bag and sat on the desk. "So how's life been Moses?"

"Nothing changes." Moses replied. "Except the NPA...they've been a little busy around here so you should warn your men. Their latest scam is acting like Catholic missionaries to get money for their fake orphanages. Also...Mabusai Street is off limits, no G.I. Allowed. They are still running the pick pocket racket and the street vending ring. Tell your men to compare cart prices. Also...make sure they know that when they hear "KABALOW!" they better be going for the street because the bullets will be right behind."

"Shit." Dad yelped. "Don't you guys believe in Miranda? Innocent before guilty? A fair trial?"

"Don't do stupid shit and you won't get shot. Simple" Moses replied. "Oh yeah...here's a list of bars where you can catch the clap, the girls could cut your throats and where you might pick up a "Holly Jolly" (Trans-sexual) and please tell your men not to beat up the "Holly Jollies" it looks embarrassing in a courts marshal and the paper work is a fucken nightmare."

"Thanks Moses." Dad said as he bad the officer a good night and walked into the main drag of Olongapo City.

"Wow..." Dad said to himself. "They finally paved the streets?" The last time Dad was in town, the streets were all dirt and mud. The main street and side streets were packed with one and two story bars decorated with colorful banners, all of course with the names of the ships in port, the biggest reserved for the Carriers like Columbia. Magsaysay was a mix of different sounds...music from the bars. Horns and bad mufflers from the hundreds of jeepnee taxies going up and down the streets. Sidewalk venders screaming the sale of everything from monkey meat on a stick to packs of condoms and promised defenses against the dreaded "drippy dick" aka "The Clap"

Of course all the girls "knew you" which is why Dad wore a ring out of a bubble gum machine and kept the real wedding ring with mom at home. The girls were as good with their fingers as they were with everything else and they could always tell a "cherry boy" from Sailors and Soldiers who'd been to "Po City" more than once. Subic's motto was "What's done in Subic, stays in Subic." of which dad didn't give a damn save to unwind from the stress of service. His mind and eyes were focused on one objective...zero trouble from the Sailors and Chiefs that were under his authority...well...Sandy already managed to break the "Zero" desire rather quickly.

 **Madam Cherry's Bar**

8pm

The place was already packed with officers, Chiefs and enlisted men by the time Dad came through the door, had a flower lae thrown over his head and a beer shoved in his hand. Men were in various stages of inebriation from dizzy to absolutely destroyed and the population of women compared to the amount of men was absurdly lop sided.

How you packed a full service rock band, a dance floor, a bar, tables, chairs and bodies in such a small place who's construction contractors were anything less than suspect defied description but this was the typical layout of any bar in Subic Bay. A girl maybe not close to 17 yet wrapped her arms around Dad's neck and like throwing off a vampire he displayed his faux wedding ring and a good snort and that was enough of a public signal to any other girl who was looking for a good nights paycheck.

"My main mother fucker!" Lieutenant Commander Bob Dybdhaul said half full of "beer cheer" as he wrapped and arm around Dad's shoudlers...come sit with the congregation and pray to mighty Budweiser." Bob said as he led Dad to a table where Andy was sitting at the moment "Well target engaged" so to speak with a local "little brown machine of pleasure."

"Ah hah!" Dad snapped as he pointed. "I told you!"

"Oh shut up boss." Andy replied. "She's not a hooker...are you my dear?"

The Filipina (filip-peen-nah = female Filipino) sitting next to Andy shook her head.

"My gawd Andy...I told you these girls can smell a cherry a mile away. What story was it this time? A bank secretary? No...an accountant? No...a lawyer...lawyer is their best one."

The girl whipped out a leather badge holder and flashed a police badge.

"Are you serious?" Dad snorted. "Where'd you get that thing honey? A Buddy Buddy store?"

The Filipina shook her head and gestured Dad to his feet and just as quick she had him sitting on the floor with a thumb pressed to his neck...

As he sat crying for mercy...the girl whispered into his ear..."My brother sent me? Cheesh your memory is beginning to fail you Kevin."

Dad got off the floor..."Angela? What the hell? Is he fricken crazy? You get home."

"Oh...like I'm planning to do anything?" She replied as she sat with Andy. "I'm not a little kid any more. Brother said I was to look after the safety and purity of your precious B/N and show him good time. You having good time Andy?"

Andy looked at Angela and gave her a kiss..."Ummm?...yes?"

"Better me than any girl. I show you nice time." Angela said as she played with Andy's chin..."No worries and no clap."

"With Andy's luck? You'll get him kidnapped by the NPA." Dad snorted. "Don't get him shit faced Angela? We have to fly tomorrow morning."

Bob Dybdhaul patted Dad on the shoulder..."So did you volunteer for "B Qual"?

"Going to." Dad replied. "I stopped by to see an old friend up in Cubi this afternoon. Says a revolt might be brewing in the senior leadership against LBJ."

"Well shouldn't there be?" Bob replied. "Who ever heard of a war where you gauge victory by the number of people you kill? How can you win anything by bombing a fucken bike repair shop a hundred damn times but the bridge the "North-ees" use to truck shit south can't be bombed because it might give MaoTse Tong constipation? You know? Doug MacArthur told Jack Kennedy in 1963 not to get involved in this mess; if we won't fight for a clear and singular objective then why do you wonder that the people back home are getting pissed off? But like the skipper said...we're not flying for LBJ, we're flying for the poor kids that bastards sending on the ground. We can only hope Johnson gets his sorry ass handed to him in 1968...till then? We'll get our B Quals, go forth and murder SAM's in hopes of bigger brains...hell I wish MacArthur had run for President and won, the world would have been better off."

Dad snickered. "Sheesh Rob...Rob for president. You have a gift."

"No I don't." Rob replied. "I go home on leave, sit in my brother's hydro-ponic farm, smoke dope and listen to the speeches of Adolf Hitler all day. You know when you're strait he's stupid but when you're stoned? You really see the genius."

Dad snickered. "You bullshit me?"

"No I don't." Rob replied. "My brother sends me joints in care packages. Grows seriously crazy shit Kevin, a few puffs and the whole scheme of Southeast Asia will be revealed in all its' ugly truth..." Rob smiled. "Also makes the pussy a hundred times more beautiful...doesn't help with flying though." Ron pointed towards the Skipper and snickered. "Now no shit? My brother's stuff helps the Skipper with his limp dick. You can't have a limp dick if you want to be an admiral. Rumor has it that Chester Nimitz chewed cannabis root to please his wife."

Dad shook his head..."I'm serving with crazy people." He said as he looked around the bar and counted how many married men had a Filipina under their arms...future points in case he needed threats and bribes to get him out of trouble...

"Hey Boss?" Andy yelped as he stood up half staggering from drinking. "Angela is going to take me sight seeing ok? I promise to be there tomorrow for our flight."

Dad replied pointing to Angela..."Do not let him get too fucked up Angela, I'm telling you, I will know."

"I won't...Father Kevin. I promise to have him back "chipper" you can trust Angela." The girl said.

"You are such a woman of virtue Angelia." Dad replied sarcastically.

 **11pm**

 **Olongapo City**

 **Magsaysay Drive near Shit River Bridge.**

As Dad was walking back towards the main gate of the base, he happened across another officer...obvious by his shoulder boards...who was sitting on the curb of the sidewalk with his head rolling around as it was drooped forwards with the chin resting on The man's chest...

Dad took one look at the name badge on the man's chest and shook his head and he knelt down...

"Mister Gooddale?" Dad asked the Executive Officer. "Sheesh Sir, I always take you for a clean shave kind of man."

Gooddale replied." Shows what you know of people." He was obviously smashed and how anyone could have walked by and not offered him a hand; even his own officers, torqued Dad's buttons. He looked around and caught Sandy coming down the street by himself...

"Sandy?!" Dad called out as he waved. "Come over here!"

Sandy came running up and looked at the officer on the sidewalk. "Wow! Is that the X.O.?"

"Yes...afraid so." Dad replied as he gave Gooddale a light shaking.

"Sir? You alright?" Dad asked the Executive Officer who was quite "smashed" out of his gord...and he sure stank like it. He was also sporting a good "shiner" on his left eye, obviously he'd gotten into a fight.

"Help me get him up Sandy." Dad said as he struggled to get the XO off the sidewalk. "Damn Sir...who did you beat up?"

"Huh?" The XO replied drunkenly..."Pucken Marine douchbag...I showed him."

"I hope he doesn't have a concussion." Sandy said as he and Dad carried the XO over Shit River Bridge and back onto the base where they caught a Jeepnee to Cubi and the ship. Too much beer makes men stupid...and in some cases overly blabbly...

"I love you guys." Gooddale said as he gave embarrassing smooches to my Dad and Sandy as he draped himself over them..."My wife will never understand why I spend more time with you guys than her...women will never understand the love men in combat have with each other...if not for you guys? I'd be shit! I love you guys...mmmmm...love you guys..."

Sandy winced from another unwanted kiss..."Sir?" He asked my Dad. "Respectfully request of the Lieutenant that I knock the XO's fucken lights out?"

"Request denied." My Dad replied. "We need him semi-mobile."

"If he kisses me again Sir, I'm gonna damn sure ask he marry me. I want the money!" Sandy said smirking.

When they got to the officer's brow of the Columbia, Dad took the XO on one side and Sandy took the other. They carried Gooddale half way up the brow when they had to stop to bend him over the side rail so he could "let go" the contents of the night's joy. More struggling, more kisses, more "I love you guys" and finally Dad and Sandy got the XO to the quarterdeck where the watch officer stood shaking his head at the abysmal display...

"Really Sir?" Ensign Keith Ronholm said. Ronholm was an F-4 Radar Officer dad knew at Corpus...

"He loves us Keith. Don't you Sir?" Dad asked Goodale.

"Mmmmm...I adore you." The XO replied. He then look at Keith, smiled at him, waved at him and then...

Promptly puked all over his nice Sunday white uniform...

"Grrrrr...GET HIM OUT OF HERE!" Keith snapped. "GOD DAMN IT! SON OF A BITCH!"

Dad waved a hand..."Keith! Do me a solid and don't report this please?" Dad said as he struggled to get the XO off the quarterdeck...

"YOUR GOD DAMNED RIGHT I'M REPORTING HIS ASS!" Keith shouted as he flipped throw up off his arms..."WHAT ARE YOU LAUGHING AT SAILOR?! MOTHER FUCKER!"

Dad looked the drunk XO in the face..."Damn it Sir? When you screw up? You do it with style I'll say. Just had to be Keith...laughter...never happened better to a tighter ass."

Sandy replied.."I kinda think you don't like that Officer Sir?"

"Oh hell no...he's an admirals brat...the prick." Dad said as he and Sandy got Gooddale back to his stateroom. "Sandy? You good enough to join me in a drunk watch?" Dad asked as they flopped the XO in his rack and put a trash can by the head of the bed.

"No probs Mister Sterling." Sandy replied as he grabbed a chair. "So...if we get XOI and Captain's Mast? What do Officer's get?"

"The firing squad." Dad replied. "Officers are not allowed chances to fuck up. Actually? Bad fitness reviews and discipline letters can be enough to kill a career. At the XO's level? They can make his life totally terrible."

Dad and Sandy sat with Gooddale the rest of the night with Dad "zonking" out on the floor to grab some sleep because he still had to fly later in the morning. It was around 7am when a knock at the XO's door got Sandy out of his chair. He opened it to find himself face to face with the Air Group Commander himself...

"Sir! Good morning!" Sandy said as he stood at attention.

"At ease Sailor." CAG replied. "Is your Executive Officer here?"

Sandy looked back. "Yes Sir...physically a least."

"I can see that." The CAG said..."And I can sort of smell it. You tell that man that when he's able to fly his feet, he better come to my office."

Sandy nodded then tilted his head. "Sir? This wouldn't happen to be about the XO getting into a fight with a Marine is it?"

"Not at liberty to say there Sailor." CAG replied.

"Well Sir with all due respect? I was there and saw the whole thing?" Sandy replied. "That's how Mister Gooddale got back to the ship. See Sir? The XO was bringing a bunch of us beer, he really thinks a lot about the enlisted men Sir and this Marine bumped him and trashed the drinks. Well...the Marine was already loaded Sir and he called the XO's mother the "c" word Sir? Well I don't know what you'd think Sir but?...someone calls my mother a "c" word Sir? And yeah, I'm gonna kick their ass...even though I'm not much for kicking any ass being such a stick. But it wasn't the XO's fault Sir...honest."

The CAG nodded his head. "Fine...you look sincere enough Son, I'll take your word for it, I'll cover his ass but you make damn sure he understands that the next time I hear him or any officer acting in a disgraceful drunken manor like that? There will be hell to pay."

Sandy nodded his head and closed the door as Dad sat up from the floor...

"Lying like that Sandy could get you screwed. To me it's nothing, to a Captain?" Dad said as Sandy walked up to the bed to empty the trash can and put another wet towel on Gooddale's head.

"Like the XO said Sir? I love you guys. We're like family Mister Sterling, we gotta have each other's back right?" Sandy said.

Dad nodded. "You're like a one in a hundred when it comes to good men Sandy. Go ahead and get out of here, I'll call the First Class Petty Officer berthing and get them to round up replacements till the XO can get on his feet. I have to be at the parking apron by 11am to go fly...if Andy made it back knowing my friend's crazy little sister."

 **Cubi Point Naval Air Station**

Upper Parking Apron

10:30am

Dad arrived by Jeepnee and walked into the Quonset hut that the squadron occupied to find Andy sitting by the coffee maker looking surprisingly chipper...

"Wow..." Dad said as he grabbed a paper cup. "It lives."

"Didn't tell me she was also a masseuse?" Andy said as he wiggled his cup. "Damn... rape with a smile...what about you boss? How did you spend the night?"

"With the XO." Dad replied. "We're getting married and Sandy's the best man you know? XO was shit faced out of his mind. He beat the snot out of a Marine out at Bogarts Bar."

"Well he does like to fight." Andy replied. "After we went by a few other bars, I went back with Angela and met the rest of the family at like 11:30 in "Barieo Beretta" and then she gave me the massage of my fricken life...oh my God I never felt so relaxed since...well... since when ever."

"Good thing you're so chipper." Dad said as he pulled a green navy note book from his flight suit. "Today is a low level around Luzon on instruments only, TAR out to ten miles (TAR = Terrain Avoidance Radar) simulate snake-eye level attack on Haiphong Harbor; which of course is off limits but we can dream can't we?" Dad passed Andy the notebook. "The course data is flagged for you to punch in. It's going to be clear for the most part except through Cavinti Pass east of Subic. Low hanging clouds and moisture fog so we better be especially attentive through that."

Dad grabbed his flight back..."Are you sure you can fly? Is your head attuned as well or do you suffer from tit block?" Dad snickered. "Still cherry?"

Andy chuckled...what do you think?"

"I swear I'm going to get you laid yet." Dad replied as they walked out towards 503. "Mmmm...mmmm going to be a nice day today huh? Ninety degrees and clear."

"Did you hear the latest news Boss?" Andy asked. "We're missing a big fight north of Quan Tri this morning. The USS Ranger is flying strikes, news has it the North Vietnamese put 6,000 troops over the DMZ thinking they were going to take Quan Tri easy and now they're mixing it up with the 1st Marines and B-52's out of Guam. McNamara's threatening to expand the target list up North and...Ann Margaret is definitely coming with Bob Hope."

"Awesome." Dad replied as he started pre-flight inspecting 503. No bombs, just three 300 gallon external tanks which meant the plane was going to "haul ass"...Dad was already having "Dragster" thoughts in his head by the time he started climbing up the pilot's boarding ladder.

 **30 Minutes Later**

10,000 feet above Luzon Island in the Philippines

Dad adjusted the black glare shield over his face and clipped the rubber oxygen mask over his nose and mouth as the Intruder cruised up along the Eastern shore of Luzon Island and passed between small San Christobol Island to the left and Samar Island to the right...

"All set?" He asked Andy.

"First turn in three...two...now." Andy replied and Dad threw 503 into a sharp left and downward turn towards "Binantio (Bee-Nan-Tea-Oh) Beach" which was the "starting gate" so to speak for navy training route 3a that would take Dad over several radio and radar stations along the way to Subic. The idea was to "sex the Earth" hug the land and use the terrain to mask the Intruder on its' way to an assigned target so the enemy would have no time to react and the EGRES (Escape out from Target) would be as trouble free as possible.

Now the Veritechs have an automatic (TERCOM) Terrain Command system that takes care of adjusting the fighter to the height from the ground so the pilot doesn't have to worry about having to watch three or four vital gauges and indicatiors...not so with the Intruder, which is why in the cockpit, Dad and Andy had to have a symbiotic and flawless relationship. Two sets of eyes were better than one where you're doing bat shit out of hell 500 knots at places where you become a tree pruner or a tree kisser in mere seconds.

"503...feet dry." Dad said into his radio as the Intruder screamed over Binantio at only 200 feet!

"Rodger your feet dry 503." Cubi Point radar station replied. "Route is clear of traffic. Flight conditions clear through to Cavinti Pass which has vapor fog from base up to 500 feet. Take care 503."

"Next turn 50 miles. Current speed 513 knots. Arrival time now ten minutes...Mark!" Andy said as he maintained his face to the scope hood switched between the ground radar presentation and the terrain avoidance radar sweep to keep Dad aware of upward sloping grades..."Pull her up five degrees...320 feet...for three minutes..."

Dad moved his glances between the DIANE VDI screen and the ground distance radar return dial to it's left. The A-6 had three small radars mounted on the belly that shot beams forward, directly under and forward of the airplane and returned a percentage result on a numerical dial which gave another indication of how fast a slope was rising or falling thus Dad would follow with the control stick accordingly. From the roughly smooth plain that ran from Binantio Beach to San Philippe province south of the US Air Base at Clark Field, Dad and Andy began to fly over rolling hills and sharp rift valleys caused by the various volcanoes that dotted the landscape, among them old mount Maiyan which they screamed past to meet the next turning point...

"Right Ninety!" Andy snapped and the Intruder cranked over hard at 150 feet off the ground! Andy grabbed the Jesus handle on the canopy frame and breathed hard and fast as the G Forces pushed him back against his ejection seat..."Cutting trees! Riveting!" He said into his radio as Dad brought the plane level...

"Where's the next turn?" Dad asked as he got a warbling tone in his earphones and took the Intruder down to 100 feet till the tone stopped..."Search radar." He said calmly.

"Got it." Andy replied as he punched a few keys and threw a switch on his control panel and the Intruder was now throwing out a jamming signal to confuse the radar. "Next turn... 86 Miles and 520 Miles per hour...16 minutes...Mark!"

"After that? How long to Cavinti Pass?" Dad asked.

"Twenty minutes" Andy said.

"If we're carrying 12 Mark 82 Snake-eye bombs? What's the settings?" Dad asked as he pulling the Intruder up to clear a line of hills ahead...

"12 Mark 82 Snake-eyes, selecting 200 mil delay ripple release, pop up loft toss attack to EGRESS back 180 from the target. Throw release at 1000 feet. 30 degrees nose up to 40 degrees nose up. Two miles from target..." Andy replied.

"You can breath while you give all that." Dad said as he looked out the cockpit glass to the front and saw the running rift valley depression that would mask the Intruder as it ran towards Cavinti Pass...

Dad's radio cracked..."503...Red Crown...Be advised that two bandits just lifted from Clark Field. Identified as ROP-AF (Republic of the Philipines-Air Force) F-4 Phantoms climbing angels in a slow turn. Will advise further..."

"They do love to make things more interesting." Andy said as he sipped coffee from a themos and kept his eyes glued to the B/N screen...not paying attention at all to the closeness of the rift valley wall from the right wing.

Dad banked the jet over left and right to weave through the rift as the DIANE's presentation screen changed quickly showing the grade, height and climb or dip requirements between the ground and the plane in various green and black color shades and designs around the destination indicator box and the offset error indicating dot that walked around the screen as Dad danced the jet about...

"503...Red Crown...two "ROP-AF" F-4 Phantoms, angels 12 (12,000 feet) inbound to your location at 530 knots, 55 miles out." Cubi Control said into Dad's radio.

"Thank you Red Crown. Keep us advised." Dad replied...

Andy waved a finger. "Turn coming up in three...two...turn left ninety!"

Dad rolled the Intruder around until the fog covered Cavinti Pass run came into view through the canopy glass...

"Now it gets exciting!" Dad yelped as he took the Intruder down to 100 feet off the ground. "Let's put that relaxed ass of yours to good work Andy."

Andy smirked back as he watched his screen and worked over his computer. "I.P. To target run in ten minutes. Your course is smooth, hold heading, hold altitude..."

Dad clicked his radio. "Red Crown...503...do we have fighters available?"

"Negative 503, no fighters available. Bandits now closing at 530 knots, angels 10 (10,000 feet) and falling at 25 miles out." Cubi Control replied.

"They'll be on our ass when we come out of the pass." Andy said.

"That's if they can get a lock out of all the ground clutter." Dad replied. "Let's see if those Phantom jocks can kiss fucken concrete." Dad took 503 down to bare nuts altitude and watched as the radar altimeter meter bounced crazy back and forth teasing with the 100 foot marker Dad had set as his limit..."Keep a good eye on that scope Andy and please don't blink?"

"Very funny." Andy replied. "Sharp 90 right coming in five minutes to the I.P. Turn...UP! UP! UP!" Andy snapped and he felt the Intruder bolt upwards as he saw the jagged rock floor of the valley rush under with mere feet to spare!...

"My nuts are in my fucken mouth boss!" Andy snapped.

"How's the taste?" Dad snickered back as he brought the Intruder low again. "Those Phantom jocks don't want to stick their heads into this fog soup do they?"

"Beep...beep...beep..." Nope." Andy replied as the aural warning of air search radar bounced around his helmet. "But they're up there looking for us right now!"

The Intruder was almost kicking up dirt as it blasted through the pass and punched out of the fog at the end into clear weather! "I.P. Turn in three...two...TURN!"

Andy caught the Jesus handle on the canopy as Dad cranked the A-6 into a tight snap turn and whipped it back level over the hills and houses just outside Subic Bay Naval Base. "Give me directions Andy?!"

"Turn left five!" Andy replied as he kept his eyes glued to the screen..."Left...left...on the groove!" Andy said as he went through the motions to bring twelve Mark 82 snake-eye bombs "into the bull pen"...

"12 Mark 82 Snake-eyes, selecting 200 mil delay ripple release, pop up loft toss attack to EGRESS back 180 from the target. Throw release at 1000 feet. 30 degrees nose up to 40 degrees nose up. Two miles from target...your pickle is hot! Ten miles to target! Enemy air search radar continuing to try and acquire!"

"They don't have guns." Dad said as he peered through the aiming recticle of his bomb sight. "They would be down here by now if they did!"

 **CENTNAVAIRFOCSA**

Central Naval Air Forces Command South Asia.

Captain Chandler Dixon was just returning from a meeting to his officer when everything not secured went flying from shelves and his desk as the building shook violently around him! He turned to the window just in time to see a low flying...seriously low flying A-6 Intruder's flame spitting behind rapidly getting smaller being chased by two obviously ticked off F-4 Phantoms that were struggling to get a lock on their "ball scary" quary...

The Intruder wagged it's wings for emphasis as to who was driving.

"Hmph...wise ass." Chandler snorted.

 **503**

LT Kevin Sterling / LTJG Andrew Mescado

Andy began to count down as the DIANE attack computer's VDI ball began to climb up the screen towards it's release point..."Ten...nine...eight..."

"Hold your nuts Andy!" Dad snapped. "This is going to be a crazy ride!"

"Six...five...four...three...two...NOW!" Andy snapped and Dad pulled back on the stick and popped the A-6 up to 1000 feet then jerked it backwards to the stops, booted the rudder and the "Mighty Tadpole" seemed to somersault as Dad mashed the pickle trigger to release the phantom bombs and turn his plane back 180 degrees upon the now shocked F-4 Phantom pilots who got a face full of Intruder ass and tail as it flew between them!

"FUCK!" Andy snapped as he screwed his eyes shut..."YOU'RE OUT OF YOUR FUCKEN MIND!"

"You signed up for this crazy train." Dad snickered back as they screamed back over Chandler's building, over the perimeter fence of Subic and back into Cavinti Pass leaving the F-4's to circle around Subic probably cursing in Tagalog, their wet flight suits.

 **After the flight**

Cubi Point Air Station Lower parking apron

Dad climbed down to where Sandy stood shaking his head. "Damn...I wish I had a camera...holy shit Mister Sterling, I didn't know this plane could do something that crazy."

"That's ok Sandy...nor did the Phantom drivers." Dad replied. "But...you're still all dead because our 12 snake eyes would have danced all over this apron; that my friend is what counts."

"The XO was very appreciative Sir." Sandy said smiling.

"Good." Dad replied. "Hopefully he won't do something like that again." He turned to Andy..."I have to go to airframes and ask Chief Magkasi to do a test and check on the flaperons...they were acting a little "chuggish"."

"Well the way you threw the plane around? No wonder Boss." Andy replied smirking.

Dad walked into the much smaller and longer Quonset hut where Airframes had set up their shop and talk about timing that the XO was in there too...

"Oh...Sterling." Gooddale said as he walked up. Dad paused him to ask Chief Magkasi to get the flaperons on 503's wings looked at.

Gooddale pulled Dad aside..."Look...Kevin...I really owe you my shit, I was such a bother...but...John Casserotti, I mean...I've had eight pilots and friends lost in Vietnam in the space of only three years man and sometimes..."

Dad shook the XO's shoulder..."Sir, come on...we look out for each other. And losing people is totally understandable, I realize the pressures, most of us do. Don't let it bite the shit out of you?"

Gooddale nodded. "Only problem now is Tony Mitchkulski. He didn't show up for morning meeting, he didn't call...no one knows where the hell he is..."

As if on cue at the back of the hut, someone climbed from under a pile of rags and tarps...stumbled to the back door...puked his guts out...closed the door...stumbled back to the pile of rags and tarps and grumbled like "Pa Rug" on a Banana Splits cartoon before snoring his ass off...

It was, of course, Ensign Mitchkulski.

"Ah...problem solved." The XO said smirking as he turned to leave the hut.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

September 28, 1967

JEST school. Cubi Point

Jungle Survival and Evasion training

 **Note: Once again, to get a file with pictures included email dannavy85**

"What cha fuck ah you doin?" The short Philipine Negrito tribesman asked as he peered down at Dad who was trying to hide in a jumble of vines and bush...

"Evading." Dad smartly replied.

The Negrito thumbed with a hand. "Get out of dat you stupid ass."

Dad stood up snapping back. "Hey look! You're talking to a U.S. Naval Officer there Mister. You better..."

"I'm talkin to a dead stupid ass skinny fucker!" The Negrito snarled back. "You painted yourself all black in da day time against a green background? Do you have ears or are dey stubs on your silly head?!" The Negrito smashed Dad with a finger jab to a pressure point and took him down like a sack of wheat..."Dare! Now you dead Naval Officer because the VC found you like hooker in Subic you silly dumb bastard!"

The little guy handled Dad like a rag doll and threw him into a bamboo cage with ease. "Dare...now chew sit dare and get a moment of nirvana huh? Like you friend over there Mister Old Spice...you stink like whore which is why you now rot in VC tiger cage you stupid dumb fuck."

Dad looked over at Lieutenant Commander Darcy Benton..."These guys are ass holes."

"They need to be." Darcy snorted. "I should have known better. And using black camo paint for your whole face and head was actually not a good choice. You have to mix some green in there Sterling."

The Negrito walked around the assembled officers shaking a snake in his hand. "Now not only can the VC kill you...the jungle will kill you quicker. Vietnam is home to the two step snake...my little friend here. He bite you? You take two steps and die; he worse than the African Black Momba. Then there's the Vietnamese yellow tiger...oh even VC don't screw with him...bullets no good, he too fast. Your nose is most important organ in Vietnamese jungle. Smell of piss and shit can save your life. Vietnamese smell tiger? They run like hell. You smell like tiger? They want nothing to do with you."

The little man quickly killed, gutted and cut up the "Two Step" in his hands and handed pieces out to the officers..."There...you eat, get used to doing shopping on the run. No "Stop n Shop" in Vietnam. Even Vietnamese too pampered to hunt for food, big advantage for you."

Letter to Mom...

Dear Cin Cin...

Just went through three days and nights here in the Philippines of what they call "JEST", every part of my body hurts from it. The locals here gave us a basic class in how to live off the jungle, evade capture by the North Vietnamese and make weapons and food out of everything...makes me feel a little fortunate that it was the Japanese and not us who had an unpleasant run in with these tribal people during World War II. I still can't get the stink of cat piss out of my flight suit...I'll explain that unpleasantness later.

We got new airplanes to fly while we're in Cubi and I volunteered to qualify on them. The A-6B is what you'd call an Iron Hand plane which is designed to kill Surface to Air missile sites. I've been told that its' actually the safest plane to fly in North Vietnam because it stays outside the perimeter defenses around Hanoi and Haiphong to shoot missiles at radar sites. The idea is that if we can keep the North Vietnamese from shooting their missiles; they can't defend themselves against the bombers going in at night.

I just got world today that Bill Pennant, you remember Bill from Corpus? Bill Pennant was killed last week flying an A-4 Skyhawk south of Haiphong. Seems not a few days goes by that I don't hear about someone from OCS or Corpus or Whidbey who gets shot down flying up North. Seems the only thing these bombing pauses of LBJ do is give the North Vietnamese the time to stock up and build up their defenses. The good thing to think about though is that the rate of pilots lost to pilots getting rescued favors the rescue, which is why they stress JEST so much and why they beat us up till we can't walk. A lot of pilots have been going into this without the training and most of them don't make it out.

If I'm scaring you Cin Cin...I'm sorry but I think it's better you are told the truth than the typical all flowery fine letters most people write from this place. We all saw the news that General Westmoreland spoke to the Congress like MacArthur did in 1951 only Westmoreland was all "Victory" and "we're winning"...most people's opinions are? What's this idiot smoking? What we're seeing close to the action is that the North Vietnamese are some tough bastards who refuse to surrender even when they lose a ton of people. We've been bombing and shelling their hides for a week now near Con Tien and Kon Tun on the DMZ...killing hundreds of them but our troops are getting chopped to pieces, the casualty counts are horrific.

We won't be staying longer in Subic. Once the A6-B quals are complete, we're steaming to Yankee Station to replace the Midway and then its' our turn to take on the ring of steel around Hanoi. Hopefully by that time, the President will get his ass one right and let us fight this thing to a real victory.

Keep praying for us Cin Cin...kiss Keith goodnight for me?

DadDad.

Letter to Dad...

Dear Kevin,

We watched General Westmoreland's speech too, most of the wives made a point to get together for coffee and treats to watch it on CBS. As you might think...some of us were doing more than huffing at the tube. Mrs. Lyons called Westmoreland a professional bull shit artist. I finally got to talk to my sister and...she apologized for the "Baby killer" remark she made. She said all the information she has on what's been going on is pretty solid and she didn't know if she could ask you to confirm any of it because you haven't been over North Vietnam that much and what it might do to your career if they found out your sister in law was "in league" so too speak "With the Communists" Well of course she's not but this confusion over the war and how the government is running it is causing people to get very upset. My sister has heard that the US military is purposefully targeting dams and river dikes to flood the farms and kill people in North Vietnam...I told her that's bull shit and if I know my husband well enough? He wouldn't follow such orders.

Everyone is gripped with trepidation and worry, even the children at school are suffering...I go to the PTA meetings and hear of near teenage children wetting their beds, suffering night terrors, having violent stomach fits, passing out in class from lack of sleep...the war's afflictions are touching people who are no where near Vietnam. Every night the vultures on television like Cronkite give us no rest at all from it.

I can't say I am not worried Kevin, I want you home yesterday. There's only so much you can do to occupy your mind before the worry settles back in, ask Keith how many batches of cookies I've made in the past two weeks alone for people I have over or when Bob Dybdhaul's wife throws a gathering at her place. I'm drowning people in Toll House Chips.

Your mother and father haven't stopped calling the house for a week now, wanting to hear more besides the occasional letter; your Dad is planning to come see us in two weeks and spend time with Keith; even he isn't pleased with what's going on in Vietnam...pleased being a "nice" word to describe his mood.

Please take good care of yourself and Andy. The days can't end soon enough.

Love...Keith and Cin Cin.

September 31, 1967

Pansagan Bombing Range

Luzon, Philippines

1900 hours

Dad and Andy's A-6B bounded over a ridge hugging the ground as Andy studied the radar scope and the resulting indications from the computer as it processed the signals coming from the target transmitter in the center of the range...

"Target! Fansong FC radar front at 20 miles! Shrike in the bull pen! Jammer process select!" Andy snapped as he punched the keys on his computer tower between his legs and the aural warning from the transmitter ceased...

"Damn this plane is sweet!" Dad replied as he pulled the nose up and punched off a Shrike missile at the offending transmitter. The powerful jammer pod under the right wing calculated the frequency of the transmitter, adjusted for any attempt by the operator to beat the jamming signal and shot out a wave of Electromagnetic Pulse to match each of the sweeps of the opposing radar dish to blind the radar's incoming signal to its reciever.

The operator would only see "snow" or what the old time television sets did after the station went off the air for the night. He'd never see the Shrike Missile that was about to "corn hole" him out of existence until it was too late to react!

"WEEBLE...WEEBLE..." The warning horn sounded again as Dad and Andy over topped the destroyed antenna...

"Auto-cannon ZSU! Hard left!" Andy snapped and Dad threw the Intruder into a tight barrel roll and down to the dirt again at 50 feet off the ground! "NATE! ZSU! Co-ordinates grid Ten, Left six, Down four...mark it!"

Nate Marsden and Terry Wise were coming over the top at 10,000 feet with a pair of rocket pods under their wings..."Keep jamming, we're burning, coming inbound and hot!"

Dad and Andy flew around in a sharp right and Andy played the jammer pod against the gun transmitter and got the welcome silence in reply as he saw Nate's Intruder unleash a full torrent of rockets from above..."Good night ass hole!"

"This is going to give us big advantages over Hanoi." Dad sad as he pulled the A-6B up to 15,000 feet and joined Nate in formation...

"Now that was sweet!" Nate said in his radio. "So I heard the Air Force wasn't even interested in getting any of these "B" planes...what the hell are they thinking?"

"That the EB-66's are enough." Dad replied. "What's the sound a Thunderchief makes when it kisses the ground?"

"That's not funny at all Kevin." Nate replied. "The One Oh Five drivers are getting slaughtered up North. They say 40 percent aren't even making seventy five combat missions before they get blasted."

"Well what do you want when the Zoomies hate our guts so much? Columbia almost didn't get built because they about had the President and Congress convinced that the aircraft carrier was worthless...now they're eating their stupid pie at the cost of their own people. But we should thank the Marines, they pushed for the "B" first before the Navy did, they saw what was coming after the Cuban Missile Crisis with electronic warfare." Dad replied. "So we're both going to "hot-pit" (hot-pit means refueling while still running on the ground) and go back out right?"

"That's the plan." Nate replied. "Skipper wants "tag teaming" to become our tactic in dealing with Sammy. I just hope we do all this work at night and not in broad naked daylight."

Terry Wise tapped Nate on the shoulder. "You want to call someone when we land Terry and have them do a quick check of my scope? Damn it...the stupid thing's phasing in and out again like before...must have a cooling failure or a messed up fan."

September 31, 1967

Cubi Point Naval Air Station

Upper parking apron

1912pm

AMS 1 Quncy Landrin walked up to the crew who was doing a wash job on aircraft 508 and tapped Sandy on the shoulder..."Hey...503 and 506 are on their way in for a hot pit and re-launch out. Go supervise the fueling crew."

Sandy nodded and ran to the Quonset hut to grab his head gear, his leather gloves and a set of flashlights with white plastic cones covering the bulbs. It just so happened that Airman Drake Pritchard was taking pictures and caught Sandy as he was putting on his cranial (cranial – Navy crewman's cloth and plastic protective helmet)

"Hey San? You going out to the club after work?" Drake asked.

"Yeah...just hang tight and we'll go together. I got the day off tomorrow." Sandy replied as he walked out hearing the Intruders landing on the runway not far away.

Sandy made his way down from the upper parking apron by way of the concrete steps embedded in the grassy berm to the lower apron where five refueling stations were set up near the inbound taxi-way. The A-6's would be "Hot-pitted" meaning they'd be re-gassed as required while the engines still ran. The pit crew consisted of the "board-man" who monitored the fuel intake from a panel near the B/N's boarding ladder. A "hose man" who manned the fuel bale which was locked to the airplane by twisting the locking ring. And two safety and ground taxi crew men who would direct the A-6 out once the fueling was done.

Sandy held his flashlights in the air over his head until the pilot of the first Intruder waved his own flashlight, telling Sandy he saw him and was ready to be guided up to spot in the pit. Dad and Andy were about 50 feet behind Nate and stopped on the taxiway.

Slowly...Sandy directed and brought 506 to a stop in the re-fueling pit and opened the boarding ladders and the control panel while the "Hose man" AD3 Doug Desherliack dragged the heavy rubber hose and the metal bale to the side of the plane.

Sandy bounded up the pilot's side ladder and met Nate..."How much sir?"

"Wings and mains Sandy." Nate replied. "Oh? And call for a "Tronee" will you? The B/N's radar scope is "snowballing"."

"I will Sir." Sandy replied. He jumped off the ladder and called on his radio. "Maintenance Control this is Sandy. Will you send Petty Officer Takahashi down here to 506? The B/N's scope is acting retarded again." Sandy said as he returned to the fuel control panel and set the receiver switches.

Back at the top apron, Reno grabbed up his tool pouch and made his way towards the concrete stairs that ran from the top apron to the lower fuel pit.

At that moment...Airman Deshirliack brought the fuel bale to the mating plug on the airplane and started to engage the locking couplet...when a cloud of white mist surged from the hose bale and quickly enveloped the nose section of the Intruder!

"FUCK!" Deshirliack snapped as he dropped the still charged hose that was spewing jet fuel all over the ground. It soaked Sandy, it soaked Deshirliack, it sprayed the B/N in the cockpit...it got sucked down the intake of the right engine and when it hit the red hot compressor...

It exploded.

In a tenth of a second, the Intruder was ingulfed from the tip of the nose to under the wings. Under where two 500 pound bombs were still hooked to their ejector racks...

 **Cubi Point Control Tower**

Aircraft Control Chief Luke Belzar saw a brilliant yellow flash then reached for his phone..."FIRE! FIRE! FIRE IN THE FUEL PITS! FIRE IN THE FUEL PITS! ARMED AIRCRAFT IN THE FUEL PITS!" He reached down to hit the emergency sprinkler system for the fuel pits and saw a red tag affixed to the switch. The damned system was down for maintenance...

"GOD DAMN IT!" He screamed. No emergency trucks had been requested to be on station for the fueling operation. A horrific disaster was in the making...

 **520 A-6B**

LT Kevin Sterling / LTJG Andrew Mescado

Dad saw the bright flash and the now roaring inferno but he and Andy couldn't say anything...until the radio cracked...

"520...TOWER! ROLL TO THE RUN WAY AND TAKE OFF! WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?! ROLL GOD DAMN IT!"

Dad threw the throttles full and rolled 503 away from the impending disaster and onto the runway for a quick ass haul out of dodge...

"Oh fuck!" Andy snapped. "How much fuel do we have boss?"

"Enough maybe to put this bitch in the drink?" Dad said as the plane rolled down the runway and left.

 **Cubi Point Fuel Pit**

Reno Takahashi hadn't hit the first step of the concrete stairs when he watched in horror as the A-6 exploded in flames! Now he was running down the grass embankment, his tool bag spilling as he took flight, his eyes locked on a figure bathed in fire trying to run from the burning plane. There were no thoughts, no time to get one as Reno ripped the rain coat off his belt that he'd been keeping close as it had rained like a waterfall only a half hour before. He caught the screaming man in a flying tackle, wrapped him in the rain coat, beat the flame out with his own hands and then turned his eyes to the burning Intruder and the hung bombs on its' wings. He could do nothing for the suffering Sailor at his feet but if no one acted soon...people were going to die.

 **506**

LT Nate Marsden / LT Terry Wise

Everything went bright white then hot yellow and Nate looked right to see Terry Wise on fire flailing in his seat. Nate grabbed the canopy ejection handle and jerked it hard!

"BLAM!"

The movable aircraft canopy blasted off the rails...slammed into the vertical tail and fell to the concrete. Marsden fumbled with the kotch fittings of his ejection harness, rose to get out of his seat and felt a blast of heat and pressure throw him through the air. He landed on the concrete apron on his back with a sickening crack.

 **Cubi Point Fuel Pit**

Reno grabbed a small fire extinguisher on the run as he screamed to the Sailors staggering about in confusion..."GOD DAMN IT! HELP ME OR WE'RE ALL DEAD!"

At the Ground Support Equipment enclosure, Petty Officer 3rd class Darell Sanders saw the explosion and fire and jumped onto a tow tractor with a tow bar attached to the back and gunned the engine. If the Intruder exploded where it sat...the whole fuel pit would become one gigantic blast furnace. The Oxygen producing and supply plant was too close not to get hit.

Reno reached the plane only to get blasted by rocket propellant as the B/N's seat fired and cleared the cockpit. No thought...only action...he furiously sprayed the nose of the burning intruder with the fire extinguisher as he saw the speeding tow tractor coming up. It swung around and backed the linking end to the still burning nose wheels as Reno threw the extinguisher away and burned his hands to attach the bar...

Reno bounded to the pilot's side, whipped down the boarding ladder, scrambled into the smoking cockpit and pulled the release handle for the wheel brakes...

"FUCK! GO! GO! GO!" He signaled to Sanders as he jumped into the smoldering pilot's ejection seat and rode the Intruder out of the fuel pits and into the taxiway as a fire truck poured foam and water onto it...

The whole horrible event lasted six minutes.

October 1st, 1967

Cubi Point Naval Air Station

Morning

From the upper apron, you could see the Sailors on the Columbia huddled in groups on the flight deck and sponsons as they looked out over the fuel pit and all the yellow police tape streamed around the charred and blackened place where the fire happened...around 506 where it finally came to a stop from being towed...around the landing spot where the B/N's ejection seat and parachute crashed to the ground.

On the upper apron...men stood alone or huddled in groups, the pain obvious on many. The plane captains were especially devastated. One couldn't get his feet, a young kid fresh to the squadron who kept saying..."Sandy...Sandy...I should have been down there, it should have been me! Oh Sandy!" Dad noted that the Sailor had been replaced by Sandy as night shift PC supervisor because of a fuck up.

Dad and Andy had managed to come back down on vapors, they were really gnats ass down to vapors and another few minutes they might have punched an expensive "Bee-truder" into Subic Bay but the call to get off the ground was a good call. Andy came up with coffee in his hands...

"Here boss." Andy said as my Dad struggled not to lose it. The second fatal accident for the squadron and all because some son of a bitch didn't report a broken fuel hose bale...

"They better find the cock sucker responsible for this." Dad snarled. "I personally will shoot the fucker in the head."

Andy shook Dad's shoulder..."Nothing's going to change it Boss..." He said trying not to cry..."Terry's dead."

"I know..." Dad replied..."Sandy?"

Andy grimaced. "He's burned bad. They're trying to keep him stable at Clark Field before taking him to the states but it doesn't look good."

Dad broke...it sucks when you get to know someone for a while and then...this happens. Dad only knew John Casserotti for a brief time...about two months...Sandy he'd gotten used to for a whole year. Good guy, had a lot going for him, trustworthy, faithful, wonderful kid... now he was clinging to life because of some bastard? Dad was pissed...and broken hearted. "I want to see him." Dad said to Andy. "I want to see him before they take him away."

"I'll talk to the XO boss..." Andy replied. "He owes you one anyway. I'll remind him of it." Andy sat as my Dad sat on the grass trying to get things back together...

"Did you hear what Takahashi did?"

Note: True story...this actually happened to my own squadron in 1988 in Cubi Point and a single Aviation Power plants guy did what Reno did.

Andy pointed around. "He ran down the embankment, covered 60 yards, tackled Sandy with a raincoat, grabbed a fire extingusher, burned his hands hooking up a tow tractor and road 506...on fire...till the fire department put her out then ran to where...Terry landed and kept him alive until the ambulance guys pulled him off."

"Fuck..." Dad said. "Takahashi? You're sure?"

"Yeah." Andy replied. "Skipper's going to try and submit him for the big medal, the CMOH, but since we're not in combat...the highest he might get is a Presidential or Congressional Citation. "Bing" Instant Lieutenant grade field promotion."

"That guy just has luck all over him." Dad said. "What about Nate?"

"Broken back." Andy replied. "When Terry punched out, the blast threw Nate off the plane. We won't see Nate back...his flight career is done."

Dad grimaced and shook a fist..."I will fucken kill the guy who caused this."

By luck...the XO was walking close by..."Lieutenant Sterling?" Gooddale said. "Would you mind toning down your voice? We do have some legal guys running around?"

Dad got up. "I'm sorry Sir...I'm pissed for obvious reasons."

"We're all pissed and upset." Gooddale replied. "Same thing as with John Casserotti, I'm not going to have a full of piss pilot taking his emotions into combat. Airman Boyard's a good man, a damn fine Sailor and I said "is" because he's still alive...keep that in mind... Sandy is still with us and I think the last thing he wants is to see an officer he admires go down in Vietnam, it would break that man's heart." Gooddale gestured. "I want you and Andy to go with Chief Magkasi and some of the plane captains. You're all going to Clark to give Sandy your best; he needs that so don't go with a pissed off attitude and don't go like its' a funeral."

 **Afternoon**

Clark Air Base Medical Hospital

Dad sat silently with Andy outside the ICU where they were holding Sandy until he was stable enough to put on a MAC flight to the big burn center in Austin,Texas. Clark was also the second biggest hospital close to Vietnam where seriously wounded G.I.'s would be sent for more care before they too got shipped state side. You couldn't miss the obvious attachment given the numbers of men around in various stages of bodily destruction. More men were being killed and wounded in Vietnam by small arms than big bombs... hand grenades, booby traps, mines, the terrific damage an AK-47 round could do vice the M-16. While Dad sat over an hour he saw at least 30 men with missing limbs pass by.

Andy shook him and gestured towards the door as Chief Magkasi and three plane captains came out...

"I told him you were here and it lifted him a bit." The Chief said. "Be brief Sir."

Dad nodded and then entered the ICU with Andy and walked up to the bed Sandy was laying in. They had him bandaged up with tubes running from his nose and mouth. His Ginger hair was intact, he'd been by grace wearing his full protective gear which spared most of his head, his hands, his feet but the extent of his precarious state was obvious,

"Hey..." Dad said as he sat by the head of the bed. "What you won't do to get out of work."

Sandy gave a slight laugh..."You know what I said to the nurse when they brought me here?"

Andy smiled. "I can only imagine."

"Hmph...please tell me my dick still works?" Sandy replied.

Dad busted out laughing..."My God...Sandy..."

"It was good for a laugh." Sandy said weakly..."Sir?...I'm so sorry..."

"None of that." Dad replied as he gently put his hand on Sandy's. "You couldn't know it would happen. I'm sorry it did."

"I won't get too see Ann Margret." Sandy said painfully. "That sucks."

Dad thought for a moment..."Let's say I arrange her to come see you personally? How about that?"

"That would be so cool." Sandy replied. "Could you do that?"

Dad looked at Andy then back at Sandy..."If I didn't try then I wouldn't be much a division officer...would I?"

Sandy smiled back..."Doesn't matter...you'll always be super fucken cool to me Sir."

Dad shook...almost started balling...

"Stop it Sir...you start crying and you'll loose cool karma points. I'll be ok...you just better come and visit me back stateside when you get home. My mom cooks a mean BBQ." Sandy said as he reached out to touch Dad's face. "You too Mister Mescado, didn't mean to slight you."

"No offense taken Sandy." Andy replied. "You'll beat this. You'll better or we'll hunt you down drag you from heaven and blanket party your silly ass. Little puke...having sex in a public fountain...fucken disgraceful."

"Yeah...yeah...and you're still a virgin." Sandy snorted. "Sucks to be you Sir."

"Why you little shit." Andy pretended to get angry which was a good way to end things on a happy note...

Dad scribbled his home phone number on a piece of paper and put it in Sandy's hand. "You call my wife Cindy when you get state side. You stay in touch with us you hear me? I'm going to get you Ann Margret, I promise you I will do it. You hold me to that Sandy but you better beat this or so help me I'll be so fucken pissed at you."

Sandy smirked. "Oh shut up? Go bomb Hanoi already and let me get some sleep?"

Dad and Andy walked out of the ICU and saw Reno Takahashi walking out of a different room..."Petty Officer Takahashi!" Dad called as he walked up and just hugged the guy...

"Hey Mister Sterling." Reno replied. "You ok Sir? How's Sandy doing?"

"Mister? I don't know what to say to you." Dad said as he stood holding Reno by his shoulders.

"To be honest Sir? It's all a blur to me. I didn't even know I burned my hands till they dragged me off...off of Mister Wise. I just went automatic you know?" Reno said.

Dad patted Reno on the shoulder..."We if they do give you the Medal of Honor? You deserve it."

Reno smiled..."Right now? I'd do for a beer."

Dad wrapped his arm around Reno's shoulders..."Our treat...whatever you want?"

October 6,1967

USS Columbia Battle group

Yankee Station off North Vietnam

 **Events occurring as of October 6,1967**

The aircraft carriers USS Saratoga and USS Intrepid on Dixie Station have joined US Air Force and US Marine aircraft based in South Vietnam, Thailand and Guam in "Operation Rip Saw" supporting US Marine, US Army and South Vietnamese troops against a concentration of 6,000 NVA massing North of Kom Toon, Kaeh Sahn and An Loc military bases. It is a North Vietnamese tactical faint which will lead into the coming Tet Offensive in January 1968.

President Lyndon Johnson announces the continuation of wide spread bombing over North Vietnam (Rolling Thunder 7: the seventh Rolling Thunder from another LBJ bombing pause fails to convince the North Vietnamese) the target list is expanded with 50 new target sites open near Hanoi and Haiphong (However...more important targets such as stopping the Soviet (Russian) and Chinese provided war materials from Haiphong and hitting North Vietnamese air bases and factories on the Chinese/Vietnamese border; remain off limits.

The battle of Ong Than begins on October 17, 1967 in South Vietnam where the US 1st Infantry Division (The Big Red One) clashes with the 78TH NVA Battalion which has been holding two hill tops above the US Ranger base near Ong Than village; ten miles north of Da Nang City.

19 American airmen are now imprisoned at the Hoa Lo prison complex in Hanoi (The Hanoi Hilton) to date...240 American airmen have been killed and 960 American combat aircraft have been shot down over North and South Vietnam. The USS Columbia replaces the departing USS Midway in Yankee Station. USS Midway loses three F-4 Phantoms, Two A-6 Intruders and Eight A-4 Skyhawks over North Vietnam.

On the flight deck there is a flurry of activity as squadron crews attach long steel bars to bombs and lift them or "strong back" them into the locking receivers on various bob racks while others chain load bullets into planes like the A-4 Sky hawks and the F-8 Crusaders. The morning launch will be massive, it has to be for the amount of ordinance being required for several targets and several different missions.

"Ordies" on the Columbia prepare planes for an Alpha Strike (1967)

A Veritech is a different beast all to itself of course, one V-1 Fighter could have decimated

North Vietnam's defense system from a distance with the UMVV-1 Multiple HV warhead missile system. A box of UMVV-1's carries 15 missiles and each missile has ten MIRV 500 pound warheads for ten targets. But back in 1967 you didn't have that kind of high tech horror to hit an enemy with so the equiviant force was the Alpha Strike (So named because the targets authorized for bombing in North Vietnam were called "Alpha Targets from the Alpha List)

Macross Ordnancemen loading UMVV-1 Missiles

Alpha Strikes we up to 40 aircraft at a time from the small and nimble Skyhawks to the Intruders to the F-4 Phantoms and F-8 Crusaiders looking to tangle with North Vietnamese MIG fighters. The targets could be bridges, road crossings, power plants, airfields..many which had been hit repeatedly till they were powder atop rubble and yet the North Vietnamese were tough people. A bridge which might have been knocked down by strike a day before was put back together with "spit and gum"; even my Grandfather who fought the Japanese in the Pacific admired the Vietnamese for their resilience. The whole population of Hanoi seemed to flow out like ants after a bombing and rebuilt things like airfields with nothing but back busting sweat and thatch buckets full of rocks, dirt or any useful trash they could find.

Columbia's first launch "on the line" at Yankee Station off North Vietnam consisted of three Ram Intruders...

501 LTCDR Marvin Long / LT Kenny Keyes

503 LT Kevin Sterling / LTJG Andrew Mescado

504 LTJG Delvin Gravett / LT Danny Doherty

five A-4 Skyhawks, Four F-4 Phantoms with bombs, five F-4 Phantoms and five F-8 Crusaders to deal with MIG's. They were going to strike the airfield at Dong Suong between Hanoi and Haiphong Harbor. Dad was carrying the strike load for the runway, a full load of 24 Mark 82 500 pound snake eye bombs which he would unload upon both the runway and the hangers nearby; hopefully catching North Vietnamese fighter planes while they were still on the ground.

The target of the Morning Alpha Strike October 6 1967

The briefing over, Andy stopped to fill a Thermos full of black coffee and followed Dad out of the ready room and up to the flight deck where 503 sat fully armed up with snake-eye bombs. A new plane captain had been assigned to the airplane, Airman Orlando Teage from San Digeo, California. It felt strange not seeing Sandy, that pleasant and warm greeting had been replaced by a more stern faced and professional sounding man who'd probably not been two months shy out of basic training and who maintained that fear of khaki well instilled by hours of disciplinary harshness. Eventually, he'd break out of it.

"Good morning Airman Teage." Dad said as he walked with the plane captain to inspect the plane. One surprise? They had yet to remove Sandy's name off of it. Plane captains prized having their name stenciled on a plane and Dad made a note to Teage..."Make a note to have Sandy's name changed out will you Mister Teage?"

The Airman gestured. "I didn't want to Sir...since it seems everyone liked Sandy, I felt I might be pushing my luck if I dared to get it re-painted."

"It might sound harsh Mister Teage but in war, we have to move on. If you dwell on memories? It might get you killed. I think Sandy would understand so make sure it gets repainted?" Dad climbed up the boarding ladder and Teage followed him...

"How many in your family Mister Teage?" Dad asked as Teage helped him buckle in.

"Ten sir." Teage replied. "If you want to talk about my wider family? Huge. I have too many cousins, always broke at Christmas."

"Nice to have so many brothers and sisters to pick on huh?" Dad asked.

"No Sir." Teage replied. "I'm the baby myself."

Dad laughed. "Let's get this on the road."

"Yes Sir." Teage replied. "Take care of yourselves." He then climbed down the ladder and Dad and Andy went through the starting process. Moments later...a quick jolt and the Intruder was thrown off the ship and for a moment began to fall towards the Pacific as the weight of the bombs dragged it down until the eingines over-powered gravity and the plane climbed steady to the navigation point where Dad would meet the other Intruders. Andy was "setting up shop" so to speak...turning on the radar, setting the bomb release interval, the number of bombs for each target objective and double checking the navigation way points.

"Navigation done." Andy said as he kept his face glued to the B/N scope and ran through the target assignments. "You have a split deck of nine for the runway and the rest for the hangers and apron. Stagger release set at 140 milliseconds." Andy didn't break his concentration as he opened his Thermos, filled styrofoam cup and held it out for Dad...

"Coffee?" Andy asked.

"Mmmmm...flight service." Dad replied as he took the cup and drank the coffee. "Is breakfast with this too?"

"Yeah." Andy replied. "We will be serving our complimentary morning meal of hash and flak when we cross over Haiphong with a healthy side order of "You fucking American air Yankee pilot" artillery scones."

Dad smirked. "Keeping it lively are we?"

At way point three...50 miles off the coast of North Vietnam near Haiphong, the three intruders from the Rams formed up into a tight "V" formation with Lieutenant Commander Long in front and Dad off his left wing..

"So here's the plan." Marvin radioed Dad and Delvin Garrett. "Garrett and I will go high at 10,000 feet to draw their attention on us. The A-4's are going in before us to take down the SAM radars with Shrikes and rockets so we'll concentrate on the radar guided guns at the airfield. Mister Sterling...you're "low duck" when we hit the coast. 500 feet, full speed, watch for flak radar. Line up with the runway and pickle your load try to cover as much of the runway center as possible. Everyone got it?"

"Rodger." Delvin replied.

"Walking to dog aye." Dad replied. He turned to Andy..."We're not going to need the terrain radar. Watch for SAM's though Andy. Don't think they can't track that low..."

"Then fly lower?" Andy said smirking. "Closing on waypoint three...two...one...turn left fifteen degrees."

Dad slowly turned the Intruder to the navigation marker on his VDI and pushed his throttles up to 50 percent. "Marvin? There are four SA-2 (missile) sites on our way right?" Dad asked Marvin. "What's the call sign for the A-4's?"

"Chirpy" Marvin replied. "You'll hear..."Chirpy Mark, Chirpy Shot gun and Chirpy Shack" when they nail a site."

"Aces...feet dry!"

"Archers...feet dry!"

The F-4 Phantom and F-8 Crusader MIG hunters were over Haiphong now and five minutes later...

"Chirpy feet dry and in the hunt!"

The A-4's crossed the coast south of Haiphong and were now hunting for SAM radar's to kill.

An SA-2 missile sight with a "Fansong E" radar set at the center (1967)

Even with the support from the Russians and the Chinese, the North Vietnamese couldn't go crazy with their air defenses. SAM radars were a precious few around Hanoi and scarce between there and Haiphong and turning them on to try and lock on to an airplane usually meant a quick pounce by a Shrike, a pack of rockets or a rack of cluster bombs. The North Vietnamese had two choices to try and beat the Navy's anti-SAM defense. They could snap fire a SAM and then turn the radar on to get a quick lock on the target and hope the SAM would follow the beam or they would blind fire a SAM from one site and turn on another sites radar and try to catch a plane that way. The war over the "Han-Phong speedway" as Navy pilots called it, was a complex game of "cat and mouse checkers"

At waypoint three, they were at 16,000 feet. Ten miles from the coast of North Vietnam and five miles south of Haiphong harbor. Dad and Andy clipped their oxygen masks over their faces and lowered the clear plexyglass half-face shields over their eyes...

"Ram feet dry!" Marvin Long called out as the three Intruders screamed over the coastline and started taking various sizes of gun fire from the ground from people shooting bolt action rifles to single and double ten and twenty milometer cannons firing solid rounds and proximity detonation rounds that sprayed flowers of steel shrapnel through the air...

"Dumb salt n pepper." Andy said as he took a quick look around and went back to watching his scope."

"No radar?" Dad asked.

"Nothing." Andy replied. "Nothing...yet."

Ten miles out from waypoint four which was the Initial Point or "IP" to the bomb run; Andy waved a hand around..."Number four...punch the button boss!"

Dad took the throttles all the way to the forward position and pushed the nose down to 45 degrees..."503 going for the deck..." He said calmly. Everything beyond the cockpit was out of Dad's mind...the environment became automatic between a man and the instruments. Dad scanned between the VDI, the attack angle indicator and the rapidly spinning altitude indicator...

"Chirpy One Mark...Chirpy One Shot gun...Chirpy One Shack"

"Chirpy Four Mark...Chirpy Four Shot gun...Chirpy Four Shack"

"Aces jump!"

The raido cracked with A-4 and F-4 call outs ahead of the three Intruders. SAM's were getting smacked and the F-4's were pouncing a MIG...perhaps more. The altimeter reached 1500 feet and Dad pulled back the control stick to level the bomb laden plane to 560 feet; not the safest altitude in North Vietnam but the SAM's would be less of a worry if the North Vietnamese started to pop them off.

"Coming up on the "IP" to target." Andy said into his radio. "Picking up smart salt and pepper around the target now."

"Ram One in hot! Target ZSU!" Marvin's voice sounded.

"Ram two in hot! Target ZSU!" Delvin called out.

If 503 was getting hit by anything...Dad and Andy weren't picking it up. People on the ground were obviously shooting by the flashes of exploding rounds close to the Intruder which threw the plane a little off course...

"IP Turn in three...two...one...execute left!" Andy called out and Dad turned the Intruder to the left and pulled the stick back so the plane went from 560 feet to 2,000 feet in a hard shudder as it wheeled around to come into alignment with the target indicator on the VDI. Dad was now less than 15 miles from the runway at 500 feet doing full speed.

"Master arm is up, pickle's hot!" Andy called out. Dad's eyes went one last time around the control panel and then fixed themselves on his Heads Up Display glass to the aiming recticle in the center. He quickly grabbed the camera around his neck and snapped a "selfie" (if you want to call that a selfie in 1967? Flying through people trying to shoot you towards a target in North Vietnam)

Dad's crazy picture of the runway at at Dong Suong (1967)

Delvin snapped this shot as Dad punched his Snake-eyes (1967)

Dad was at 2,000 feet and 1 mile from the runway when the release tone signal sounded in his ears..."Bomb's away!" He snapped as he mashed the trigger and started to slowly pull the nose up to "sling" the bombs farther than if he had dropped them while flying flat.

"Bombs off!" Andy snapped as he watched the 500 pounders drop away from his side of the plane. The Intruder screamed over the top of the airfield as the string of nine bombs fell in a line onto the surface of the airfield runway and punched craters into the center 3rd of the 1,000 foot strip!

"Impact!" Andy yelled into his mask as Dad pulled hard on the control stick and put the bomber into a steep climb till he was three miles from the airfield and topping his climbing turn at 8,000 feet!

"Going in hot!" Dad said into his radio. He could hear the other two Intruders as they unloaded on their own selected targets. More calls from the A-4 Skyhawks on other targets. A call from a Phantom engaged with a MIG somewhere close. No matter...only the immediate world of the cockpit had his focus...

"The rest are up and set." Andy said as he threw up the master arm switch. "Pickle's hot!"

503 was now going 530 miles per hour, coming down from 8,000 feet at 30 degrees towards the row of aircraft hangers and the concrete parking apron where dad could see men making a stand with AK-47's and bolt action rifles against the on rushing bomber...

"Steady...steady...steady..." Dad waited till the right moment to pull the Intruder level with the ground at 800 feet and mashed the trigger on the control stick to let fly his remaining 13 snake-eye bombs against the parking apron...

"Bombs off! Heavy salt and pepper!" Andy yelled as Dad rolled 503 several times before putting the plane into a tight diving turn for the ground again..."Ram Three slick belly and out!" Dad called over the radio to Marvin and Darcy...

"Ram one EGRES out!" Marvin said in reply.

"Ram two EGRES out!" Darcey replied.

Dad was going balls to the wall at between 100 and 200 feet off the ground with tracers flying by the nose as Vietnamese gunners below tried in vain to get a good draw on their screaming target...

"Turn right fifteen degrees boss!" Andy snapped. "Gun concentration at seven miles."

Dad replied. "And I thought you weren't paying attention."

"What am I here for? Entertainment value?" Andy replied.

Dad screamed over the sub-burbs of Haiphong and reacted to something smacking into his side of the canopy and had just enough time to catch the little kid on a roof holding some sort of sling...

"Some kid just hit us with a rock!" Dad yelped.

"Are you serious?" Andy asked.

"Yeah! He had a rock sling in his hands!" Dad pointed back.

"Parents better get him some ice cream for that good shot." Andy replied. "Can you imagine if he got us in the intake?"

"Don't joke..." Dad replied. "He's probably that good."

Dad saw the beach rush by under the Intruder and clicked his radio..."Ram three is feet dry!"

"Ram One is feet dry!" Marvin called out.

"Ram two...feet dry!" Darcey said.

Marvin flew up to Dad's plane as they passed 20,000 feet leaving North Vietnam. "As soon as we're all back together Lieutenant Sterling? We'll give each other a quick look over. How's your plane? All systems good?"

Dad signaled back with a thumb then looked over at Andy who thumbed up to Dad. "They were a little underwhelming don't you think?" Andy asked Dad.

"Please tell me you're just cracking a joke?" Dad replied.

The three Intruders joined up and cruised back towards the Columbia at 24,000 feet where each took turns flying around one another looking for gunfire and shrapnel damage...

"Kevin? You got some pepper strikes (Shrapnel) on the vertical stab and I see a few bullet holes on the belly but no bleeding." Devin said as he came up from flying under Dad's plane. "How'd you do?" He asked.

"Good." Dad replied. "We hit the runway square center and slammed three hangers. No planes though...no secondary explosions. They don't park MIG's at that base do they?"

Marvin chimed in. "Nope. Most of their MIG's are coming from bases in China or from Dien Bien airbase in the most northern province. Our fighter jocks killed a MIG-17. Me and Delvin killed a pair of ZSU's and some ground guns but the defenses were pretty sparse. Hanoi is the horror house of Disneyland Vietnam."

October 6,1967

USS Columbia Battle group

Yankee Station off North Vietnam

11:30am

"Intruder on final...Intruder over the lip...ON THE RAMP!"

"WHUMP!"

Dad felt the welcome jerk from the arresting cable and pulled the throttles back to idol while quickly taking a sip from the thermos cup of left over coffee and following the yellow shirt directors to his parking spot on the bow of the ship.

Airman Teage climbed up the pilot's ladder to grab Dad's flight bag. "How did it go Sir?"

"We hit em good." Dad replied. "Do a good post flight inspection Mister Teage? We took some ground fire to the tail and there's bound to be more."

"Yes Sir." Teage replied. "Oh...we got good news from the states about Petty Officer Boyard. He's going to make it."

Dad smiled..."That's great. I have to talk to the skipper about him when I get done with de-briefing." Dad and Andy made their way down to the Ready Room where they turned in their flight harnesses and equipment and sat for an hour filing out paperwork and briefing with Marvin on what ground defenses they ran into... including...

"A kid? With a rock?" Marvin asked smirking. "Seriously?"

Dad motioned with his hand..."Yeah. We were around 100 feet near Haiphong, we passed by...and over...a four story building and this kid with a rock sling nailed us in the canopy."

Marvin made a hilarious note and pinned it to the large map at the front of the ready room. "We'll call this kid "Sammy Candy". Everyone's to avoid him like the plague."

Rumor from Dad has it that "Sammy Candy" took down a passing A-4 Skyhawk. When he ends it with "no bull shit"? Yeah...sure Dad...sure.

Once he was done with the brief, Dad walked up to Skipper Saffell's office door and knocked on it..."Sir? Lieutenant Sterling."

"Welcome back." The Skipper replied. "How was your first flight near Hanoi?"

"Took some shots but otherwise we got the objective. No planes though and the runway looks like a pepperoni pizza there were so many fixed spots. The place has been hit numerous times already hasn't it?" Dad asked as he sat down.

"You're going to see a lot of that in the months ahead, trust me. There's a boat yard in Haiphong? It's been bombed so much that on a good day you can see all the bomb craters beneath the water at the shore line...hundreds of them." The Skipper said.

"If we've been bombing all these targets over and over again and the North Vietnamese keep fixing them and never use them then why do we keep bombing them?" Dad asked.

The Skipper pulled out a piece of paper. "That is what we send officers like yourself to places like the Naval Warfare College in Newport Rhode Island for. Which shocks me as to why you said no."

Dad grimaced..."Chandler you bastard."

"I take it you don't like the senior officer who sent me this endorsement?" The Skipper asked as he handed Dad the letter.

"Oh no Sir...he's fine, just that he exists at the prodding of my old man...who I sort of told years ago not to "help" me...if you get that meaning?" Dad said groaning.

The Skipper wisely relented..."As you insist. I only recommend it since you'd have a fast track to more responsibility so one day you can sit at this desk and tell some junior officer why he has to go bomb the coffee maker plant in the Han Kep District of East Hanoi another fifty damn times."

Dad put the letter in his shirt pocket. "Sir? I'm here actually for a different reason...it's about Petty Officer Boyard. I heard he's going to make it."

"Yeah...he'll be there for the next six to eight months at least...skin graphs and surgeries but he's out of any danger. Of course he'll be seperated with 100 percent pay and disability which is why we got him a one up to 3rd class Petty Officer. What's on your mind?"

"Well..." Dad replied. "One of the last things he said to me at Clark before he left was that he'd miss the USO show this coming Christmas and was wondering if I could pull strings to have Ann Margaret visit him. Dunno if that would happen knowing how busy she must be. Is there any way to try and arrange something?"

"Well..." The Skipper replied. "Ann Margaret is a Navy brat after all and a local girl from Huntsville, Texas. Sandy is from Dyre which is about ten minutes away and a pretty small town...I'll talk to the Ship's skipper and see if we can arrange a letter to the director of the USO from you personally. Ann Margaret's got a big heart for the military and she might make a visit."

"Means a lot to me Skipper." Dad said. "I made a promise and I want to keep it."

"You'll get no negative from me Kevin." The Skipper replied.

"What about Petty Officer Takahashi?" Dad asked. "Did you really put him in for the Medal of Honor?"

"Damn right I did." The Skipper replied. "Got send up the chain past the Battle Group Commander too. Even if it doesn't get approved and something less comes back? Takahashi's route to a commission is assured. He'll be leaving for Officer's School next month. By the way? You better get some good sleep over the next six hours...you and Mescado have Iron Hand at 2am. You'll be taking 520 on a SAM hunt."

"Yes Sir." Dad replied.

"Get me that letter as soon as you can." Saffell said with a wave as Dad left.

October 5,1967

House of VA-6 Commanding Officer Charles Saffell and wife Sandra Lynn

Charity bridge tournament

7pm

My mother moved over to make room for Nate Marsden's wife Alice as she arrived late from visiting her husband at the military hospital at Fort Lewis army base...

"How is he honey?" Marvin Long's wife Derusha asked as she passed Alice a pack of cigarettes and a cup.

"Alright..." Alice replied. "The traction gear is uncomfortable, he complains like a machine gun and he's upset that he can't hold Barry (Lieutenant Barry Marsden, Nate's son, now flies in my squadron) but considering things? He's doing alright."

Cassy Boyer, Lieutenant Reece Boyer's wife, was the treasurer for the squadron wives club. "So far we've raised 20,000 dollars for Mrs. Wise and we're sending a gift to Petty Officer Boyard in Texas. I must say this squadron perks up for its own people."

My mother nodded..."The whole community comes running. Not everyone's enthused about the war but the troops still matter. Kevin's been dropping hints to me that things are not too well thought of with the crew...at least those he knows besides the squadron."

Derusha replied..."Girl? You best keep all that tamped down and quiet. Some one already dropped the dime on Miss Sandra."

"You're joking?" My mom replied. "What for?"

"Well..." Derusha replied. "She was at the Commissary last week and who's there but some of us...yours truly...and that elephant ear, trash can lid flapping, thick painted face as you please gossip artist...Melinda Dorn? You know Melinda? She thinks her shit doesn't stink and she outranks her husband? Comnavairpacnorth (Commander Naval Air North Pacific) We we started talking the latest news and Sandra's just talking about all this mess going on with the protesting and the increasing worry about morale and possible extension of deployment and Miss big ears tells her husband. Three Naval Investigator people in black suits show up to the house to give Sandra the "Notary Public" warning about exposing sensitive data and disparaging leadership? As if Miss Sandra was flying combat jets over Russia or some other dumb shit honey?"

Mom replied. "Are you serious?"

"I would never steer you wrong would I?" Derusha replied. "We paid "Miss Mouth" a visit honey and you know what that crazy bitch threatened? My husband."

"No...seriously?" My mother replied.

"Oh she did..." Derusha snorted. "Crazy bitch. You ever seen a black woman who's the daughter of a Southern Baptist preacher forget she was a Christian? I went all black militant on her glory white ass. You were there Nancy? You tell her!"

Nancy Smith, wife of Ensign Justin Smith, started chuckling..."I almost wet myself from trying not to laugh, the insults came like machine gun bullets with a whole lot of..."Woman! Bitch! Damn you think! You crazy stupid bitch! Lordy Gawd in heaven strike this crazy bitch with lighting Lord Jesus!" I swear Derusha was speaking in tongues."

"Mmm...mmm!" Derusha sounded with a nod. "Rest assured I had Miss Snitch driving away like she was being stalked. Next day? She had to cross to the other side of the street to avoid me. But trust me Cindy girl? You need to watch your tongue because you joined the Navy and didn't even get the draft call. Your husbands whole future is tied to you being a dutiful and obedient and faithful servant to your man...except home...he tries any shit at home and I'll neuter his silly ass."

The women giggled together then went on to other serious topics...like...could their husbands really be trusted not to indulge in any "Hanky Panky" at those overseas ports even if they wrote and swore on the souls of their children? Now trust me, mom was without doubt absolutely sure of Dad even if in my early teens I bugged the hell out of him about the "adult Disneyland" of Asia I often heard at Ram reuinions where everyone said absolutely that Dad never went crazy...

I looked at them all as a gang of bold faced liars but in fact they were completely true about Dad...absolute boy scout...with the occasional loss of control and stupid acts of foolishness...usually with Andy as a co-ganster. Theft of a "Jeepnee" and cases full of beer, grand larceny of an admiral's dress sword, re-allocation of squadron tarps from some Marine fighter squadron for an orphanage in Saigon, Passing himself off as a four star admiral to gain supplies to refurbish a Catholic orphanage in Danang...that sort of silliness. Dad has a big heart...he just doesn't believe much in 100 percent legal means to obtain and objective...like...like Rick Hunter...cept Rick is too cute looking to get caught.

October 7th, 1967

0200 hours

Aircraft 520 A-6B Iron Hand Mission

 _ **Objective: Anti-Aircraft defenses around Vinh Air Base, North Vietnam. Aircraft 520 will precede three A-6A strike package in night time destruction of runway and fuel facilities. Vinh is considered an important secondary operations airfield in the southern half of North Vietnam.**_

 _ **Expected defenses: There are two SA-2 Installations around Vinh equipped with six SA-2 missile platforms and their Fan Song B radar trailers. Anti-Aircraft consists of standard medium and light/heavy guns, three or four radar mobile ZSU 40 millimeter tracked guns and standard small arms. A single Do San GCI (Ground Control Intercept) radar array is known to be at Vinh but it is expected to stay down as the North will not risk flying MIG's at night unless they have a guaranteed kill target. The Do San should be left alone unless it becomes energized. The SAM radars are priority removal with the ZSU guns second. SAM removal takes priority before the strike on the airfield can occur.**_

A-6B 520

Callsign: Horny Vulcan

LT Kevin Sterling / LTJG Andrew Mescado

Andy read the order package again with his red colored flash light and about pissed himself silly..."Chuckle...Horny Vulcan?...Chuckle...Are you really going to say that over the radio Boss?"

Dad shook his head. "Have too...and if you look at it? We do have horns and we do produce fire, death and destruction of property so...you know."

Andy shook his head..."Just say..."Spock here, I need to get laid."

Dad laughed, then looked all around at the world outside the canopy. It was pitch dark with no moon. No lights in the distance, no lights coming from the sea below, complete blackness which meant that the instrumentation and the double sets of eyes was going to be essential after the Shrikes were thrown off their rails and all you had left were the Mark 20 Rockeye bombs.

Dad was at 25,000 feet, his radar set to look out 80 miles past the plane for ground indications. So far only the buildings at Vinh military base gave solid returns. The darkness was going to make seeing a SAM launch or a flying missile hard to track by eyesight; especially if the thing came on nose to nose which hid the exhaust from the two stage engine. The trust was going to lie with the radar return threat indicator and light panel which had a series of audable warnings if the A-6B was being tracked, locked on or fired at. With only two SA-2 Sites, the North Vietnamese had no available diversity of tactics for the radars, just flipping one of them on would invite a Shrike so they might try an un-guided shot then flip on their set just long enough to direct the missile to a hopeful near miss that would cause damage. Dad played with the contrast and gain knobs on his ground radar scope for a better presentation but the set-up in 520 wasn't working better than a Zenith television.

"What I would not do right now for a set of rabbit ears." Dad snorted.

"My screens a little bit better." Andy replied. "I'll look for SAM's, you just worry about flying and altitude. We can't judge outside the canopy for shit tonight."

To enhance the effectiveness of 520's Iron Hand mission, she was going in "dark" which meant no one would radio Dad and Dad wouldn't radio to anyone until he'd wasted all his bombs and missiles or he'd gotten all the assigned targets on the list.

October 7th, 1967

0220 hours...

The young boy now running from a fox hole surrounded with sand bags licked the chocolate off his hands furiously before he snatched up the receiver on an old hand cranked phone set-up and spun the hand crank a few times.

"Central control? This is Comrade Yao Tan on the beach! I have the sound of a single American plane coming your way." The boy said with excitement. Surely he was going to get his fourth reward in a month after this! Obviously it was an America jet because it was coming from the Gulf of Tonkin.

October 7th, 1967

Vinh Air Base Central Command

0222 hours...

North Vietnamese Army Colonel Soon Thau Lan watched as the lone airplane became a blip on his screen. He surmised that it was a US Navy Intruder bomber since it was one of a small few planes America flew at night. The idea that it was all to itself made Lan a little nervous...he barely saved his butt the last time he was called on carpet in Hanoi to explain his failure for not stopping another lone plane that caused him chaos. This was a do or take a punch moment for if this one plane had others following after it? Lan might end up with no defenses left to meet a larger assault.

He decided the issue by pulling out a North Vietnamese cent piece...

A-6B 520

Callsign: Horny Vulcan

LT Kevin Sterling / LTJG Andrew Mescado

2223 hours...20 miles out from Vinh Air Base

"Here we go...Fansong search radar just became active." Andy said as he reached over to the Shrike control panel..."First missile batteries on, seeker going hot, Master Arm us up, your pickle is hot."

Dad glanced at his own indicator, aligned the aircraft nose with the green fluorescent track line on the screen, pushed the nose down around fifteen degrees and mashed the launch trigger...

" **RAH-VOOM!"**

The Shrike screamed off the port wing launch rail, past the nose of the Intruder and locked with the outgoing radar signal of the Fansong set below...following the beam to the proximity burst point where the missile warhead detonated and shredded the radar van with shrapnel!

" **Beedle...beedle...beedle...beedle..."**

"Missile launch!" Andy yelped. "Two o'clock on the dial!"

"Turning right! Do you see it?!" Dad asked.

"No! But its' tracking steady...no lock yet!" Andy replied as Dad punched off a pair of chaff canisters from the tail and gave the Intruder a sharp right turn then a sharp left down turn!

A white streak of flame and smoke screamed by Andy's side of the plane and continue onwards into the darkness..."Holy fuck!" Andy snapped.

"Plenty of room to spare." Dad said calmly as he righted the Intruder at 17,000 feet.

"The fuck you think!" Andy replied.

Dad casually pointed to the radar indicator. "Shouldn't you give me another Shrike for that radar or should we play missile tag again blindfolded?"

"FirstmissilebatteriesonseekergoinghotMasterArmisup, your pickle is hot!" Andy said in almost jibberish!

"You've had such a religious experience that you're speaking tongues Andy." Dad said as he lined up another shot and cut loose his second Shrike missile from the right wing rail!

" **RAH-VOOM!"**

"I'll smack you on the head and call you Saint Steven boss." Andy replied as he flipped through the selectors and threw up the Master Arm switch. The sudden silence of the radar threat indicator showed the result of the Shrike...dead Fansong set...two for two.

"Two rockeyes in the bull pen, set at 140 miliseconds, pickle's hot!" Andy yelped as Dad looked over his VDI...

"Steer me into attack." Dad said as he looked out the canopy. Everything was still pitch black and the ZSU cannon gunners were wised up. They didn't dare switch on their radars for fear of instant death.

"Track is laid out...come right 15 degrees on first leg." Andy said as he looked at his watch..."We have twenty miEeep!nutes left to whack-a-mole boss before the shoppers come."

Dad pushed the nose down again and the Intruder leveled out at 8,000 feet as Dad rolled through the first navigation waypoint..."Nothing on the threat indicator yet." Dad said to Andy. "They know we're in town, they just don't want to chance their radar..."

 **Eeep!...Eeep!...Eeep!...Eeep!...Eeep!**

"Gun guidance radar tone! Turn hard left twenty degrees! Distance ten miles to target! Your pickle is hot! Rockeyes in the bull pen!" Andy yelped.

"Thank you Mister Good Humor...Stepping into attack." Dad said as he watched the distance counter wind down. The flashes of tracer rounds flying by the airplane only made the work easier..."

"And...three miles, going down!" Dad said as he pulled the throttles back, pitched the nose down and centered his bomb pipper on the gun flashes below! "Windup...5k and pitch!"

Dad punched two Rockeye cluster bombs from the wings, pulled on the stick, pushed the throttles to the stops and climbed the plane up and out as the Rockeye cluster bombs broke open and tore the mobile gun to shreds!"

"Dead!" Andy said as he scanned his radar scope. "ZSU! Behind 180 degrees! Distance two miles and distancing. Two Rockeyes...140 milliseconds...master arm up...pickle's hot!"

"And swing batter!" Dad rolled the Intruder over the top of the loop, cut down the throttles and went back into a fall at 10,000 feet...

Once again the aural warning went off and the ZSU below belched angry tongues of flame from its' cannons but to no avail for itself as Dad punched his Rockeyes and roared back skyward...

"Dead!" Any said as he looked at the scope and the threat indicator..."Third one's wisely shutting up boss."

"Did you see it down there?" Dad asked.

"Yes I did. At the end of the runway." Andy replied.

"Can you get me there?" Dad asked.

"Oh gnats ass I will." Andy said as he punched on his computer keys. "Follow the Yellow Brick Road to the Wizard there Dorothy. First turn at four miles...turn 90 degrees left!"

Dad whipped the plane around to Andy's directions...

"Turn...turn...turn...level off! Next waypoint at seven miles!" Andy called out.

"Picking up a lot of salt and pepper now." Dad said as everyone down below with a rifle, pistol and rock was chucking stuff in the air. "I got it! ZSU, he just flipped on his radar!"

Andy snapped..."Turn left 15! Turn...turn...level out! Two Rockeyes, 140, Master Arm Up, pickle is hot!"

"Ten thousand feet! Throttles back, nose down 30 degrees, stepping into attack!" Dad dove on the last ZSU and the angry gun barked up face on! There was a crash, flying plexiglass, pelting debris and dad popped off the Rockeye bombs and pulled back into the air!

"We got hit!" Dad yelped. "Andy? Talk to me?"

"I'm fine boss!" Andy replied. Dad took the Intruder up to 20,000 feet, strapped on his oxygen mask and flipped on the white cockpit lights. Sure enough a couple of 20 millimeter rounds crashed through the front windscreen and punched out the back canopy wall. Dad saw some blood on Andy's cheek from a nice gash but he looked alright as Dad frisked him over...

"I'm alright Keven." Andy said waving a hand. "Let me check you out? Stop moving around!"

Dad fumbled with his radio and broke the silence..."Ram 520...Ram 520 to Ram pack. Ram 520 to Red Crown. Objectives at primary target, Vinh air base completed. We took some minor damage and can make home plate...over?"

"Rodger that 520." Came the XO's voice back. "What's your damage?"

"Sir...our front windscreen is shattered, holes in the canopy aft bulkhead, some cuts and bruses...nothing more." Dad replied as he set the Intruder for cruise flight back to Columbia and declared feet wet out of North Vietnam.

Andy sat back in his ejection seat, unstrapped his helmet and heard something make a clink on the floor at his feet...

Dad saw the blood and quickly reached for the first aid packet between the two seats... "Oh fuck Andy! You're bleeding a river on your head!"

Andy felt his head and looked queezy..."Wow...that's a lot of blood...must have gotten a piece of "shrap" inside my helmet."

Dad pulled his own flashlight from a clip on his harness and shined it over Andy's head. "Looks like you got gashed." Dad pressed a gauze pad over the wound and flashed some fingers in Andy's face..."Seriously...how many?"

"Three" Andy replied.

"And now?" Dad asked.

"Four" Andy replied.

"And now?" Dad asked.

"Oh fuck you too." Andy snapped.

Dad returned to taking the stick and flying the Intruder. "You'll be alright. Should be a purple heart medal at least."

Dad looked around the instrument panel as an afterthought..."Did you have the "ee-cams" on when we started hitting the airfield?"

Andy closed his eyes..."Ugh...fuck I didn't. Gawd damn it! I almost got us killed!"

Dad replied. "Well we didn't. But we can't bull shit a story over it. More than likely the Skipper will smack your dick and tell me to do my damn job and double check you like I should have."

Andy sat shaking his head. "What a dumb fuck...I'm sorry boss."

"Like I said? We didn't die. And the air conditioning improved a little. Flying in Southeast Asia is about as terrible a "ball soup" as we can get."


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight**

October 20, 1967

USS Columbia off Yankee station

 **Letter from Mister and Mrs Edward Boyard**

 **parents of Sandy Boyard**

Dear Lieutenant Sterling,

We wanted to write you to express our deepest appreciation and that of our son for all you and your squadron have done for him. We were surprised to have been informed that Miss Ann Margaret came by from giving a performance at Fort Hood to see Sandy personally and that you had requested she do so, it was such a wonderful boost to our son. All he talked about with her was you and Lieutenant Mescado and he told her he wanted her to see you both in person when she goes out to Vietnam with Bob Hope in December.

Sandy still has a lot of surgery and rehabilitation ahead of him but even with all the commotion going on across the country about Vietnam...nothing will change our thoughts nor our support for you fighting men. We pray for your safety every night and hope you will all come home soon to your loved ones. You are all the best examples of what it means to be American. God bless.

Sincerly,

Louis and Wendy Boyard

Dad kept that letter in a frame in the house when I was growing up and when I told him I was joining U.N. Spacy...it was the first thing he pointed to..."Aspire to that. It's not just about your mother and I. When people think and speak about you? Aspire it to be like that." He said. One of the toughest days of my life was after we lost Ben Dixon over Canada. I promised his parents that I would watch out for him and me and Ben were like glued paper you know? I felt like such a low life miserable failure when they came to see me, I could not look them in the eyes because I felt so deeply that I had let them down. That letter from Sandy Boyard's parents to my Dad made it easy to eventually climb out of the self hating funk I put myself in...which is why I have the letter at home now and tell my own daughter who's now a flight school academy student (I blame my wife's blood...Dana's a Zentradi female...I swear it) that she should aspire to the same ideal.

Andy was fine after the flight over Vinh and while he was on convalescence, Dad was stuck with boring tanker duty flights, this current one with Guy Griswald his B/N who handled the tanker controls. The squadron in the meantime was, along with our sister Marine Squadron "The Shepherds", slowly inching its' way towards Hanoi and Haiphong proper as Rolling Thunder VII opened up more and more important targets for bombing. As the flights got closer of course...the anti-aircraft defenses got harder and more crazy to deal with...as was the result to aircraft 501 being flown by LTCDR Casper and Tony Mitchkulski as they came back from a strike on the Wang Thon steel refinement plant on the province border of Haiphong. They came up to the right side of Dad's KA-6D tanker and the new B/N Guy Griswald's mouth almost fell off his face...

"Oh...fuck." He voiced as he pointed to the Intruder. The vertical stab was half gone. A good piece of the left outbord wing was gone. The plane was shot full of holes and light grey smoke coming out of the tailpipe wasn't too assuring...

Dad got on his radio..."Talk to me Casper? Any injuries?"

"Lucky us no." Tony Casper replied. "She's acting shitty though...I guess the damage is more than I can see? Honest opinion here Augie?"

Dad replied. "Well...you're not the Memphis Bell. She sort of looked in better shape. Can you make it back home?"

"Oh yeah." Casper replied. "Don't know if I can land it though? Might have to fly close and punch out but I'll try to save it."

"We're going to stay tagged with you until someone else shows up or we get called out." Dad said as he started to fly around the wounded Intruder to see what else was messed up. "What the hell did you do Tony? Sit still and let them smack you around?"

"No." Tony snorted back. "It's not like we haven't bombed the stupid target a bizillion times already? There's nothing there any more but stupid rubble and guns out the ass. We came in and they lit us up. Not hard since we're flying in broad daylight because some stupid bastard in "D.C." doesn't realize we do better work...in the dark?"

"Your belly took some "shrap"...what do your indicator lights look like?" Dad asked as he and Guy looked over the bottom of the Intruder for serious problems...

"Holy jolly Christmas...but the fire lights are still black." Tony replied.

Dad brought his tanker up on the right side of Tony's cockpit and waved a hand..."We don't see any problems with the landing gear...no blood or oil showing."

Tony raised a thumb. "I'm thinking we're going to have to barricade? I might need a small fuel cap...say...300 pounds?"

Dad turned to Guy. "Set up 300 for them." And then talked to Tony. "Do you want me to call the ship or yourself?"

Tony replied. "I'd rather stay focused on the plane."

"No problem." Dad replied as he flipped his radio channel...

"Base plate...Base plate...Texico 16 calling in a "Menace Dennis" (wounded plane) Over..."

The Columbia Air Controller replied..."State squadron, type aircraft and current condition Texico...over?"

"Ram A-6-A Intruder...501...flight controls for landing questionable...heavy "shrap" damage. Preparing to pass 300 pounds of fuel. No visible fuel, oil or hydraulic leakage present." Dad said. "Advise barricade arrestment if possible...over?"

"Affirm on the condition Texico. Base plate will prepare ready deck by barricade if landing possible." The Air Controller replied.

Dad switched back to Tony..."They're readying the barricade. Do you think you can get slats and flaps?"

"with the end of that left outboard wing chewed up? Lowering them might be a little squirrely but I'll stall her down as much as I can before I try to deploy them." Tony replied. "I think we can take some gas...don't see any issues yet that says no except I can't trust any of these lights worth a damn."

"We're close to the ship now so we should risk it anyways." Dad replied. "You're probably near vapors as it is."

Dad raised the KA-6D Tanker's altitude and increased its' speed so it was slightly ahead of Tony's battered Intruder. "Deploy the basket Guy." Dad said to Guy Griswald and watched as the drogue deploy light started to flash and then went to red and then to green...

"Green light...solid couple...fluel flow start...fuel flow light on...passing 300 pounds." Guy said as he spoke out the steps. "Do you think they can land it Kevin?" He asked.

"Well as long as the landing gear and the hook deploy. Question is...how long willl it take for a ready deck?" Dad asked.

Guy went over the calculations quickly. "We have enough to divert to the Marine SATS field at Chu Lai."

Dad called to the Columbia..."Home Plate...Texico is ready to divert to MATS Chu Lai if required by deck condition after barricade over?"

"Affirm divert Texico." The Columbia Air Controller replied.

"Fueling complete...300 pounds...drogue release." Guy called out. Dad brought the tanker back down and to the left side of Tony's Intruder as they flew over the top of the carrier.

Tony requested the status of the ship's landing area down below. The flight deck crew had just finished hooking up the giant nylon net that was now rising into place ahead of the arresting wires. This strongly woven mesh net would "catch" a fast moving plane even at 200 knots! But don't let the floppy appearance fool you...the net could still do a good deal of damage. Of course you don't need to use such a thing these days since you can switch to Guardian mode and land on a set of feet.

"Kevin?" Tony said. "We're going to lower the gear and the slats and flaps and see how she handles."

Kevin threw the landing gear handle and the levers for the flaps and slats on the wings..."Landing gear shows down and locked Kevin." Tony said. "Flaps and slats down... she's sloppy on the stick."

"I don't see a problem with the extensions." Dad said as he and Guy watched the damaged left wing after pulling slightly above Tony's damaged plane. "The engine's are still smoking light gray..."

The Columbia flight controller called over the radio..." Ram 501, ready deck, cleared for final."

Tony replied. "Rodger Home Plate...501 coming into the pattern for a long approach. Don't know if I can match stall speed on approach...flight controls acting sluggish and loose. Inbound speed around 130 knots over the ramp...estimated weight clean at 28,200 pounds"

The two Intruders flew over and past the Columbia towards the turn point for Tony's long approach...

"Can you tag with us on the final Kevin?" Tony asked.

"Yeah..." Dad replied. "This is nothing man...walk in the park. We'll watch for anything and call out if you two need to punch out." Dad turned to Guy. "Can we still make SATS Chu Lai?"

"Oh yeah...easy." Guy replied. "I hear they have a good beer garden in Chu Lai; maybe we can get about six hours ground time?"

Dad smirked. "We're going to have a hung basket problem that the Marines can handle. That should give us six hours. We've got enough tanker coverage between us and the Shepherds anyway."

Dad looked over at Tony's Intruder as it approached the Columbia with a slow wabbling and waggling of the wings...

"Tony? She's looking unsteady as hell." Dad said.

"Kevin? Please don't remind me?" Tony replied.

The Columbia's Landing Signal Officer called out on the radio..."RAM 501 call the ball?"

"RAM 501...needles high three...right two." Tony replied.

"Come down one and left one 501." The LSO replied. Tony made the correction and heard the LSO reply..."On target, one glide path, on slope...steady 501..."

Guy suddenly slapped Dad's shoulder..."Flame out the right engine!"

"Tony?!" Dad called. "Your right engine's spouting flame."

"Very interesting now..." Tony replied calmly. "Don't bother me unless it's like torching?"

Guy gritted his teeth..."Kevin? They should punch it..."

"Too late." Dad replied. They were way too close..."Ummm...Tony?" He said.

"If you say the word Sterling? So help me, I will fucken flatten your ass?" Tony replied.

Dad watched as the Intruder went over the ramp, hit the deck, caught the net, busted the nose gear and came to a spark flying, flaming stop half way down the carrier!

"They're down!" Dad said as he pointed. "And they're jumping out...thank God." Dad then radio'd the Air Traffic Control "Home Plate this is Texico requesting divert to Marine SATS Chu Lai until the deck is clean over?"

"Affirm Texico...you are divert MARSAT Chu Lai. See you back when things are cleaned up." The ATC replied.

Dad smiled at Guy..."Cold beer awaits."

 **United States Marine Corps Temporary Expedition Air Base (MARSATS)**

Chu Lai South Vietnam

5pm

October 20, 1967

The assignment for the day? Personal one on one human interest interviews to relate the experiences of the common grunt and air dale Marine in South Vietnam...

Or in other words..."Craft creative bull shit."

Edward "Joker" Hayes and Mike "Rafter man" Parsons (Yes...you know who these guys are "Full Metal Jacket" Hayes wrote the book that became the movie) were bumming about the Chu Lai airfield trying to fill the request of their Editor "Enema" in Chief, a prick of a Marine Corps Captain who was just one of the handful of officer numb nuts in Vietnam for a booby prize and a ticket to public office back home when they saw the Navy KA-6D tanker coming down the taxiway towards the corrugated revetment houses which houses Marine Corps A-6 Intruders.

"Hey...rubber duckies." Joker said with a point. "Might be worth a cool change up from grunts." Joker said to Rafter man as they walked up to Kevin who was just coming down from the cockpit...

"Excuse me sir?" Joker asked. "I'm private First class Hayes and this is Corporal Parsons; we're from Stars and Stripes."

Dad nodded. "Lieutenant Kevin Sterling. This is Lieutenant Guy Griswald. We're off the Columbia on Yankee Station. You guys doing articles?"

"Yes Sir." Joker replied. "It was supposed to be just the grunts of the Corps but we figure that since you guys are flying deep in the shit up North, something from you might make good press...if you're up for an interview?"

Guy said..."If you got a place with good beer?"

"Sure." Joker said as he gestured. "There's the "slum and chum" beer shack across the way...if you don't mind the snipers and rockets."

Dad looked at Guy like he was crazy.

"No seriously..." Joker said. "Every now and then Charlie likes to entertain himself by watching grunts piss their pants but really it's safe."

 **The Slum and Chum**

After getting their beers, Dad and Guy sat with the two Marine reporters at a makeshift wooden table. Nothing was permanent at Chu Lai, the beer garden was a thrown together scrabble hutch of plywood, pallots, canvas and sand bags with pictures ripped from various Playboys and thrown around the paintless walls with dartboards and graffiti...

While "Rafter man" looked like a Marine...Joker was totally unkempt, his hair was a wild mop, his uniform sorely "lived in" and his battle gear festooned with buttons, stickers and black magic marker sayings like..."Smoke em dead" and "Make war..peace is boring."

"What's your deal PFC Hayes?" Dad asked.

"It's common here Sir." Joker replied. "After the first six months in country a lot of Marines tend to "let it go" per say? No one talks to a reporter who acts like a tight ass...they think all we do is print lies and propaganda...well...to some extent they're right."

Guy asked. "How long you been in country?"

"Six months and four of that running in the bush." Joker replied. "Rafter Man" here is also six months in but he traded his combat gear in for cameras after too much action close to "the shit". Ain't that right Rafter Man?"

"Yup." Parsons replied. "Way too close. Artillery was dropping right on our heads and those little dink bastards were as close as me to you guys. I figured I needed more R & R after that. I was in a Combat Infantry unit of 58 guys? By the time we were done twelve hours later? We had seven."

"Fuck..." Guy replied.

"You guys just don't know how much the Marines love you." Joker said. "Air Force? They fricken suck. It takes two to three hours to get the Air Force to support the Marines, it's a damn wonder we still have effective combat units left on the ground with that kind of backstabbing going on. Hell...the Zoomies always hated grunts and squids, maybe because we're not homosexuals like those bastards are. Rumor has it General Curtis Le May dresses in drag and hangs out with J Edger Hoover in D.C...that's what the Viet Cong believe."

Dad and Guy shook their heads laughing..."I'll admit Mister Hayes, you have a crazy sense of humor."

"I'm the only one in my family who does." Joker said. "I have an older brother, he's in the Navy, currently a Lieutenant Commander and a bastard I've suffered under for years..."

"Is this why you tempt fate looking like you do?" Guy asked.

"No sir...you get me wrong. I totally respect officers...I just don't respect ticket punching dick wards who sit in air conditioned offices and treat their family members like their the plague. My brother currently runs air operations in Da Nang for the Navy and trust me Sirs? You won't even pass muster with him. To be blunt honest? If he doesn't get "fragged" by his own troops before he leaves Nam? Then my hooker sold me a broke good luck charm."

"I admire your honesty." Dad said as he clinked bottles...

Joker got serious..."So hey? Have you been up north yet? What's it like? Our pilots here only cruise the DMZ and that's like short fifteen minute dump runs."

Dad replied..."Been up close to Hanoi four times since we went on station. It's about as crazy as they describe."

"And what do you think of the Cong? Our enemy? What are they like close to Hanoi?" Joker asked.

Dad thought for a moment..."Disciplined. Big word for them...disciplined and magnificent in weapons control."

"So...they're very tough?" Rafter Man asked.

"I'd say so." Guy replied. "With us...with the Intruder? We don't fly low unless it's at night, bad weather or we can exploit and advantage then the return fire isn't so bad. The Skyhawks though? I don't know what encourages those guys to keep flying those planes, I saw one go into a strike dive south of Haiphong...not a shot fired back but when he pulled out of his dive? They were accurate and they were exact. That plane and pilot were shreaded meat before he got even 200 feet off the deck; I'm talking five seconds and then gone. And for a fucken target that's been bombed 200 damn times."

Joker pursed his lips. "I've heard the SAM's are worse."

"Not so much for us." Dad replied. "Once again there's a radical departure between the Skyhawk and the Intruder, we just have better countermeasures and better choices. Our gear can warn us much earlier on a SAM threat than the sound gear they have the Hawks. Those poor guys are screwed all around and yet they still fly that scooter...beers to them. Though...I hear the Marines are doing quiet well."

"Only because we're not going far North." Rafter Man" replied. "But we face the same issues you guys do...same targets, no purpose. North Vietnamese fix them up to make them look good and we re—bomb them. Cleaver strategy...make us waste our supplies. But you can't tell the guys in D.C.; they swear the runway that's been pounded a thousand times before is an "active field site"."

Joker waved a hand..."Just so you know, much of this won't make the paper. How busy is your flight schedule? How many missions do you average per day...just you guys? Marine pilots here in Chu Lai sometimes hit three a day depending on what the grunts are into on the ground."

Dad replied. "Sometimes two per day. You might fly an Alpha strike in the morning and Iron Hand or tanker duty at night. Our Captain and the battlegroup commander though try to spare the Intruders for night exclusive work because that's what the plane's built for. Obviously though? Washington dictates the day's scores."

Joker thought for a moment. "Honest question...do you think we're making any progress in this thing? See interviewing Marines, They wonder where the evidence is that Westmoreland and McNamara keep whoring to the press back home. The grunts aren't used to this kind of warfare, Marine hate sitting on their ass in static defenses or have to pull back from a place they just spent losing 20 or 30 odd people trying to take. The fighting doesn't seem to be decreasing and all these silly bombing halts don't seem to impress Charlie...what's your take on it?"

Guy replied..."It's difficult to think you're winning when you bomb the same stuff and their main port of entry for war materials looks like a well trimmed Japanese garden. I think the North Vietnamese are probably just as dizzy as we are trying to figure out the logic of "Mack-ees" strategy...this isn't like Japan or Korea, that's for sure."

Dad smirked. "And then there's the government in Saigon...piece of work...last time I read a Stars and Stripes, they were talking about the 200 new garbage trucks we gave to Saigon last month? There's only 8 left now, the rest were stolen. The black market is stealing stuff from the base exchanges faster than they can get unloaded and what do they called the South Vietnamese Army, the ARVN? "Steal and Evade" not "Search and Destroy" I don't know where this is going but I think the overwhelming opinion so far is that "Little Mack-ee" needs to go and "LBJ" is an ass hole."

"So...you don't thin we can win this thing despite what Westmoreland has said?" Joker asked. "Is that a common opinion you hear?"

Dad played with his beer bottle..."There are things which we "would need" to do in order to win...which we refuse to do. The common opinion right now of most pilots is one...save the guys on the ground and two...hope for a better leadership that can fight us out of this mess. I'm not fighting for LBJ, I'm fighting for the guys on the ground and for my fellow pilots so that we can survive this damn thing."

Joker blew from his mouth. "That's...pretty hard core truth Mister Sterling. How long you been in theater?"

"Almost two months." Dad replied. "But I've seen enough bull shit so far that it feels like a year already. Can't escape all the negative news, films or letters from home...people are just frustrated with how the whole smack is being handled."

That was...almost but not quite close to how many people on the SDF-1 were handling our mess with the Zentradi. In a way the peace factions were totally correct and in other ways the aggressive military factions were correct...except the military factions had zero patience to wait as separatist strife was beginning to work through the warrior ranks of the Zentradi. When I married my wife...after a bizaro and quite crazy courtship...and the broadcasts of our wedding were intercepted and observed by the female warrior Zentradi class...long simmering passions longing for re-unification turned Amazonia against Dulsa, had Admiral Hayes and the UN waited just a few days more; the Zentrai warrior woman would have kicked Dulsa's ass across the universe...and you saw what impatience resulted in...

Dad's war in Vietnam was a goolosh mess of missed signals, missed opportunity, misunderstandings, cultural confusion and all out impatience. Dad's change in though within two months of leaving home wasn't an anomaly within the officer ranks of the U.S. Navy or the U.S. Defense establishment; it seems only political people with their thumbs up their ass saw things in rainbows and unicorns...same thing with the UN and the Earth government who blew us off and then told everyone we were all dead...those of us on the SDF-1 who were in the action and in the face of the opposition were the one's with clear unrestricted eyes to see the truth of the situation.

The rest of Dad's missions over North Vietnam are cloudy as they didn't have much he could share. Same old stuff...bombing targets that had been flattened a thousand times before. Hunting SAM's and the squadron lost no planes nor pilots up to Christmas time. However...other squadrons lost men with horrifying regularity over Hanoi, averaging a shipboard memorial service every week and meanwhile the same stuff was repeating over the news and radio...light at the end of the tunnel...almost won...so many dead...so much equipment destroyed...blab...blab...blab...

And then Dad saw a note taped to his equipment locker in the ready room after another night flight hunting SAMs near Hanoi...

"Congrats you lucky bastard. You and Augie Doggie are the personal chaperons for Ann Margret...fuck you."

Skipper


End file.
